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THE 


FATE OF A FOOL 


BY 

EMMA GHENT CUKTIS. 

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NEW YORK : 

rOHISr A. BEERY & COMPANY. 

1888. 


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Copyright, 1888, 

BY 

EMMA G. CURTIS, 


Transfer 

Engineers School Lib^ 

June 29,1931 


DEDICATION. 

In the hour of discouragement and doubt I am cheered and 
sustained by my husband, who, refusing to believe in the de- 
pravity of mankind, resolutely points to the better time 
which careful education and progressive thought are to bring 
about. Therefore, 

TO JAMES CURTIS 
this little volume 

IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. 


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CONTENTS, 


PAGE. 

I. Berualillo 9 

II. Definition of the Term Fool 11 

III. A Conversation between Certain Residents of 

Bowlder Creek Park 14 

IV. The Fool 20 

V. A Shadowed Wedding 33 

VI. A Day Dream and a Night Dream 49 

VII. A Meeting with Hetty Ann Bales 67 

VIII. The Fortunes of Nannie Allen 82 

IX. The Partial Outcome of a Dream of Love 93 

X. A Reminder of the Old Time 101 

XI. The Evil Ways of the Hattons 109 

XII. A Female Tramp 118 

XIII. The Story of Emily Spangler 126 

XIV. A Home-Coming 139 

XV. A Weddin’ Dance 146 

XVI. Afterward 156 

XVII. The Course of Events 162 

XVIII. Rest 172 

XIX. Midnight Philosophy 188 

XX. Conclusion 199 


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PREFACK 

The author of this work lays no claim to literary 
ability. She simply cries out in alarm and shame at 
the boldness of an evil which mankind should have 
long since lived down. If the reader believes that 
she has exaggerated, let him investigate. 

E. G. a 




s 


V 


\ 




THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


CHAPTER L 

BEKUALILLO. 

Those who have not seen the mountains of Colorado 
can scarcely imagine them. They are so vast, their suc- 
cession of plateau, foot-hill and range is so extensive, their 
peaks are so lofty, and their slopes so long, that they sur- 
pass all description, all imagination. Humanity feels 
insignificant among their very foot-hills. 

They traverse the State in long lines, they cross, they 
intersect, they divide and fall away in diflerent directions, 
utterly regardless of the laws of fracture. They shut in 
large parks where flow pellucid streams, that draw their 
legacies of torrent from fields of perpetual snow; and 
where glisten the waters of deep, still lakes, whose bosoms 
mirror the plumage of myriads of water-fowl. 

The mountains bear upon their slopes extensive forests 
of hemlock, pine and spruce, where bound the light-footed 
deer, and where the grizzly and the mountain lion prowl 
for prey ; and lofty and inaccessible as they are, benumbed 
by endless frost, they bear upon their heads the bread of 
Colorado. For when the summer sunbeams embrace the 
edges of their vast snowfields, little streams of water 
trickle down over mosses and bowlders to swell mighty 
rivers, thence course out into the ditches of distant valleys, 
and water fertile fields, pastures and orchards. The Val- 
leys of Colorado are as completely dependent upon her 
rivers for their fertility as was Egypt upon the Nile. W ere 
it not for these, her fields would lie untilled and her rich 
mines be unknown; and should the minds of humanity 
revert once more to idolatry, the citizens of Colorado 
would be found kneeling to river-gods and building 
temples in their honor. But the mountain is still further 
back in the connection ; she is the mother of the river ; 
her snows give it birth, and from the same source it draws 
its abundance of life. 

Somewhat south of the centre of the State rises in 

9 


10 


THE FATE OP A POOL. 


awful grandeur Mount Bernalillo. Her sides are gashed 
with deep gulches and chasms, filled with perpetual snow, 
which in the distance appear fine white lines drawn against 
the heavy blue of the mighty mass. Cold and icy and 
beautiful as some heartless society belle, she stands forever 
in her coronet of perpetual snow, as if looking down in 
contempt upon the less lofty peaks about her. Her dress 
is of mighty pines, gnarled cedars and white-trunked 
quaking aspens, decorated with many a flounce of rocky 
ledge, and studded with many a gem of granite, sparkling 
mica and glittenng quartz. About her feet murmur clear, 
cold streams, flowing forever down the long heavy slopes 
of plateau upon which she rests, in search of the Gaston, 
which rolls away in the valley thousands of feet below. 
And one of the clearest and most beautiful of these 
streams is Bowlder Creek, whose picturesque canon and 
succession of level little parks are the delight of tourists 
and sight-seers. 

Nature had certainly tired of lofty peaks, rugged hills 
and deep, dark gorges, when she fashioned the Valley of 
the Gaston; it is a gi'assy park some thirty to thirty -five 
miles wide, within an enclosing circle of foot-hills, nestling 
like a little corner of paradise in the midst of nature’s 
awful chaos. The Gaston leaves its gloomy canon, where 
two thousand feet of rock stand well nigh perpendicular, 
and rolls into the valley where its banks become low and 
grassy. A little to the west of the centre of this park 
lies Milroy City, with its tail-chimneyed smelters, its neat 
dwellings, and handsome hotGs. About five miles below, 
Bowlder Creek rolls across the park to join the Gaston. 
The surrounding circle of hills shut out the fiercer winter 
winds, and gentle breezes from the canon temper the heat 
of summer. The climate is a perpetual delight, and sick 
and discouraged tourists flock here from all quarters, for 
health and recreation. 

And men dwell amid this glorious beauty, view the 
rolling river, the rocky, wooded hills and the lofty coronet 
of distant Berualillo, and love, talk, quarrel, and follow 
the avocations of life. Perhaps they are no better — ^per- 
haps no worse— than their brothers of the plain. 


CHAPTER II. 

DEFINITION OF THE TERM FOOL. 

A FOOL is a person who believes that humanity has 
great room for improvement. Sensible people do not 
agree with him. They consider humanity all well enough 
so far as morality, temperance, generosity, and knowledge 
are concerned; they would be willing to have more 
wealth, comforts, and privileges for themselves and a few 
of their immediate friends ; but they incessantly wonder 
what the world wants with more blessings than it has. 
These same sensible people believe that unhappy, unfor- 
tunate, miserable, and fallen creatures are entirely to 
blame for their sorrows, and that aside from being cursed 
for their existence, when they — the sensible people — feel 
like cursing, or used in time of convenience, that they 
should be politely ignored. Why should sensible people 
bother their heads about the miseries or the wrongs of 
others? They should busy themselves enjoying life, 
accumulating property, and looking after their own affairs 
generally, and not waste their time mourning over or try- 
ing to alleviate the sorrows of their neighbors. 

Not so with a fooL He always has his pet schemes for 
improving people. He not only wants to improve him- 
self, but he wants other people to improve. He believes 
that the four tyrants known as education, public opinion, 
strength, and circumstance, are responsible for much, if not 
all, the sorrow and wrong that exist ; and that conse- 
quently, since every one has an education of some sort, 
the prevailing method of education should be changed 
somewhat, public opinion should be made more harsh 
toward offenders and more lenient toward victims, 
strength should be more evenly apportioned, and power 
should be taken out of the hands of circumstance. 

Of course he is plentifully informed of the fact that he 
is a fool. His best friends try to hold him back, and pre- 
vent his running into the teeth of public opinion where he 
is certain to be devoured ; his enemies gloat with satisfac- 
tion over his ruinous course, while the indifferent amuse 
themselves with laughing at his folly. But his zeal is equal 
to his foolishness, and he keeps bravely and resolutely on ; 
were his zeal to give way he would eventually become 
sensible ; and just in proportion to its capacity for endur- 


12 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


ance is his extent of folly. The only consolation connected 
with this sad lot of the fool is the fact that after-genera^ 
tions of mankind frequently pay a good deal of respect to 
his memory, and sometimes even imitate his folly to some 
extent. 

Sensible people in all ages of the world have had to he 
annoyed by a greater or less number of fools, who wanted 
many and various things — more religious liberty, more polit- 
ical liberty, more scientific liberty, and more liberty to hunt 
bread and butter for their wives and children. Even sensible 
people are not always patient, and they have occasionally 
been so pestered by these disturbers of their serenity that 
they have ridded themselves of them by burning them at the 
Stake, throwing them down precipices, or tearing them in 
pieces. At present they torture them with the fires of 
public disapproval or maim them with the shafts of ridi- 
cule ; and they are sufficiently persistent in this treatment 
to keep the fool on the look-out for his welfare. 

If a few fools be mentioned in this chapter, merely as 
illustrations, it is feared that the reader will elevate his 
hands in surprise and exclaim : “ Why these are heroes 
and martyrs ! ” But let him consider ; they did, or 
attempted to do, what many if not all their sensible and 
conservative neighbors told them was foolish, impracticable, 
and even sinful. They talked of things wffiich their 
neighbors begged them to let lie hidden under the dross of 
custom and law ; they were assured by their neighbors 
that it was flying in the face of Providence to meddle with 
the established order of things ; but they in turn insisted 
that the established order of things was generally wrong, 
and ought to be dis-established. Their neighbors went on 
to assure them that if they meddled with the things they 
proposed to disturb, they would bring the King of What- 
youmaycall, or the Prince of Somethingorother, or the 
Duke of Blankreason, or Lord Bigotry, or Count Enjoy- 
himself, or the Honorable Mr. Crushpeople, into disrepute ; 
and how horrible that would be ! The sensible people 
are very careful about stirring up trouble with the strong. 

One of the most conspicuous fools of modern or mediae- 
val times was one Galileo, who advocated the theory that 
people would be better off if they spent less time killing 
each other off in wars, and more in studying the natural 
peculiarities of the world in which they live. He soon 
learned that fools must suffer the consequences of their 


DEFINITION OP THE TERM FOOL. 


13 


folly, for lie got his feet burned almost off his legs for 
his trouble. 

George Washington was a fool ; he believed that people 
should not be taxed without their consent ; he was 
deserted by many of his neighbors, accused of stealing, 
hung and burned in effigy, and branded as a traitor in a 
large portion of the civilized world. Enough of his 
friends remained with him to give him some encourage- 
ment, but the world pronounced these quite as foolish as 
their leader. 

Robert Fulton was another one ; he believed that steam 
could be made to propel a boat; and his folly furnished 
sensible people with amusement for years. 

Abraham Lincoln was an exceedingly prominent speci- 
men of foolishness ; he believed that a man should not 
have the power to sell another man’s wife and children to 
buy parlor furniture for himself; and he lost his life 
because he chose to act upon this theory. 

Stonewall Jackson was also a fool ; he believed that he 
ought to help point out the road to Heaven to the ignorant 
and dependent colored people around him, and in pursu- 
ance of this theory he taught a class of colored children at 
Sunday school. But this was not the worst of him. He 
actually advocated the idea that his wife had certain rights 
which he was bound to respect ! Now in the course of 
years, there has arisen quite a party who believe that 
Stonewall’s head was all right in regard to the former 
theory, but as to the latter point his idiocy was so glaring 
that only the most pronounced cranks will profess any 
sympathy whatever with him. 

These are only a few of the legion of fools who have 
from time to time disturbed the tranquillity of this sensible, 
wise, and conservative world, but they will be sufficient for 
examples. There are some fools living now, but they 
have trials enough without the author of this work flinging 
in their faces their names printed in a catalogue of fools. 
There are a small number of women, who, like Washing- 
ton, do not like to be taxed without their consent ; there 
are a few persons who do not believe that John Smith 
should live in luxury off of the profits of Tom Brown’s 
appetite for strong drink ; there are a few others who 
believe that the poor ought to have a few more rights 
that might be used in cases of emergency. But the sensi- 
ble people will publish newspaper jokes concerning the 


14 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


age, false teeth, and appearance of the first class, and 
avenge themselves upon the others in many and various 
ways. 

The author hopes that what has been said concern- 
ing the fool of one generation becoming the hero of subse- 
quent times, will not lead any youthful reader into ways 
of foolishness. If he have a fondness for such ways let 
him enter them because of his own private judgment ; for 
the fate of a fool is generally a very sad one, and the 
author does not wish to be responsible for any one endur- 
ing its horrors. 


CHAPTER III. 

A CONVERSATION BETWEEN CERTAIN RESIDENTS OF 
BOWLDER CREEK PARK. 

The neighbors all pronounced John Solomon to be a 
most excellent young man. He was so industrious and 
frugal that he had succeeded by the time he was twenty- 
six years old in getting together property sufficient to be 
called a comfortable start in life. He was gentle and re- 
spectful to his widowed mother, and was quite ready to do 
kindnesses to those who deserved them. His mother had 
been bereft of her husband about four years before. There 
was no anxiety as to her living, as John Solomon the elder 
liad left her a goodly amount of property ; she had been 
industrious in her time, and was still a most excellent 
financial manager, and had taken much pains to encourage 
young John in ways of thrift. 

She had encouraged him to rent a ranch for a few years, 
and make what he could out of the venture ; he had done 
so, and his management had been so successful that he had 
bought the ranch, paying half down and the remainder in 
yearly payments. His mother could easily have paid for 
the ranch, but she very wisely decided to allow her son to 
learn to lean on his own financial strength. 

John had never learned to use tobacco in any form ; he 
did not drink intoxicating liquors or use profane language ; 
he was fond of honest amusement, was the life of a ball. 


A. COTTVEHSATION BETWEEN KESIDENTS, 15 

an evening party or a croquet contest ; but since croquet 
is generally played in the daytime, he did not attend upon 
it so regularly as upon other amusements, lest his business 
interests should sufer from neglecto 

The mother had never gone to any trouble to instil into 
her son’s mind those fine moral sentiments which some 
progressive people advocate ; but what did that matter so 
long as John was such a good young man ? The mother 
was devoted to business success, house plants, scandal, and 
embroidery — all eminently respectable pursuits. She 
owned a pleasant cottage in Milroy City, where she dwelt 
along with a fat terrier dog and a trim hired girl. She 
carefully watched over John’s afiairs and busied herself 
with his money making and his love affairs. In regard to 
the latter she was much interested. She had selected for her 
son’s wife, Sophia Edgeworth, whose father had had three 
daughters married off, and had given to each one of them 
ten head of good American cows I Of course he would 
do as well by Sophia, if not better. 

But John seemed in no hurry to marry Sophia or any 
one else ; he never crossed his mother when she spoke to 
him upon her favorite theme, but he had no idea of grati- 
fying her in regard to it. He had a vague, sweet dream 
of a certain angel who was one day to appear upon his 
horizon, and he resolved to wait for her. His wife, the 
angel for whom he was waiting — ah, how his heart thrilled 
as his mind pictured her — must be tall and willowy, be- 
cause he was tall and athletic ; she must have soft golden 
hair to contrast with his own dark brown locks 5 she must 
be daintily beautiful, because he was handsome ; she must 
possess all the feminine excellencies, must be pure as a 
lily, must sing like a nightingale, and play like a profes- 
sional. Such a plain girl as Sophia would never do. 

There is another of John’s characteristics worthy of 
mention — his will-power ; he had a high and ruling spirit 
and indomitable courage of the physical sort ; as these 
traits were backed up by great muscular prowess, he found 
himself and his opinions treated with universal respect. 
His finding it natural and easy to float with the current of 
public opinion, and having no particularly strong or new 
ideas as a consequence, greatly added to the respect in 
which he was held. 

At the time of the opening of this story the September 
sun was warming the east bank of Bowlder Creek, and its 


16 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


fierce heat accounted for a group of conversationalists sit- 
ting in the shadow of the west bank. They were John 
Solomon, whose face was particularly radiant because the 
last payment had been made on his ranch the day before ; 
Mr. De Kalb, the school teacher from Deer Trail Park ; 
Ike Ransom, the wealthiest cattle-man on the creek ; and 
Frank Hatton, who was only a cow-boy and a brute. De 
Kalb was a tall, handsome, but rather sickly looking young 
man, with an expression of peculiar nobility upon his face. 
His dark hair was brushed smoothly back from a forehead 
whose breadth and depth showed unusual intelligence. Ike 
Ransom was a man of ordinary size, with rather a hand- 
some presence, and a very soft, persuasive and agreeable 
voice. Frank Hatton was a huge, burly creature, whose 
only agreeable features were a pair of kindly, almost wom- 
anish, blue eyes. 

The quartet were engaged in one of those Sunday after- 
noon discussions so common in country neighborhoods. 
There was good reason why they should talk — there was a 
new subject to talk about. There had been a strange lady 
at church that day — a lady whose beauty was quite as 
strange and unusual as was her presence at their church. 
Who was she ? She was the new music teacher. A mu- 
sic club had been formed in the neighborhood and this lady 
was to be the person whose ears were to suffer from dis- 
cords and such inventions of mistimed noise as the Bowl- 
der Creek children might be capable of. 

She had been thoroughly discussed; her beauty, her 
rare musical powers, her stately carriage, and the proba- 
bility of her being engaged, were all considered and re- 
considered. Every word had been respectful, for her noble 
presence inspired only respect. John Solomon felt a 
strange desire to talk, though when he spoke of the new 
music teacher his voice was a little unsteady ; but he liked 
to tease Frank and see him get excited, as he always did 
when there was no reason for it. 

‘‘Well Frank,” he said, “ I suppose you’ll try to take 
her to the dance, won’t you ? ” 

“ I s’pose I won’t ; ” answered Frank with a snarl. 

“ Why not ?” continued John we’ve all got an equal 
chance.” 

“Well, John Solomon,” said Frank, “you’ve no right, 
as I can see, to try to bring out my mind, but you’re wel- 
come to it for aU that. There isn’t one of you that ad*. 


A. CONVERSATION BETWEEN RESIDENTS. 17 

mires that girl more than I do — so far as honest admira- 
tion goes — she’s just like a patch of warm sunshine. But 
I know that I ain’t fit to go near her, and I ain’t quite so 
low down yet as to want what I ain’t fit for. When I 
look for a woman to go to a dance with me, or to go 
through life with me, I’ll take some one just as low down 
as I am, provided I can find such, and then we’ll have 
nothin* to fight about.” 

You don’t mean, Frank, that you’d marry a regular 
bad woman ; one out of a dance-house ? ” said John, 
secretly pleased that things were working so well. 

“ Yes, I do mean to do just that if ever I marry ; no other 
kind would be fit for me, and I believe in a man marrying 
who he’s fit for.” 

‘‘ But no one will visit with your wife or notice her a 
bit more than they will a dog,” suggested Ike Ransom. 

‘‘ What if they don’t ? I’ll treat her decently myself, 
or cut my own throat. I’ve got clear to the bottom of the 
moral hill myself, and I’m not going to try to get up by 
holding on to any decent woman’s skirts and letting her 
pull me up. I intend to take the hand of some woman 
that’s down, and we’ll go up hill together.” 

“ Oh Gosh, Frank ! ” said John ; “ there isn’t a redeem- 
ing trait about those women ; they’d never do for a wife ; 
they cuss, and drink, and gamble, and swear, and 
carouse — ” 

‘‘ Don’t I cuss and drink and gamble and swear and 
carouse?” shrieked Frank as he leaped up from the bank, 
threw down his hat, and began to warm up to his subject ; 
“ Haven’t I gone down to the very bottom of Hell to hunt 
for every kind of cussedness ? Haven’t I got everything 
on my stinkin’ conscience but murder and stealin’, and 
every stain on my rotten tongue but lies ? John Solomon, 
there ain’t a woman in a dance-house in this State that’s as 
low down as I am. Them women was all pure once, till 
some dog with store clothes on ruined ’em, and then 
every body else kicked ’em and turned ’em out, till they 
had to go to the dance-house or starve. Them women, 
low as they are, are there to get bread to eat, and I don’t 
go there for nothing but the darnedest, meanest cussedness 
that ever Hell let loose. My mother was a good woman, 
but she died when I was a kid, or else I might a been 
decent. But it’s too late now, and I’m not going to ask 
2 


18 


THE FATE OF X FOOL. 


any pure woman to blush all her life on account of my 
filth.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Ike Eansom. “ This question about women 
now — women are each other’s own worst enemies. Now 
men never look down on bad women half like women do. 
Now take a lot of women in a neighborhood, and if a girl 
falls, not one of them has a particle of mercy for her.” 

‘‘ Well,” said DeKalb with a grave smile, “ the man by 
whom she falls, and who deserts her, is certainly not over- 
stocked with mercy. The women would hardly do worse 
than that.” 

‘‘Speakin’of that,” said Frank, ‘‘makes me think of 
father’s niggers that he had before the war, back in the 
States. If one of them niggers stole anything, or tried to 
run off, or done anything underhanded, every other nigger 
on the place ’ud run a race to try and be the first one to 
tell father. And you can take any set of critters that’s 
kept under, and the worse they’re kept under and abused 
and scared, the more apt they are to up and help their 
tyrants agin’ each other. They think it’s the only way to 
save their own hides and git favor for themselves. Now 
that the niggers are free they hold together better ; and 
I believe that if women was given a few more rights, 
they’d hold up for one another more.” 

“ Oh,” said Ike, “ women are narrow-minded ; they 
are selfish and unforgiving where women are concerned.” 

“ And if you’re so wonderfully forgiving, Ike, w^hy 
didn’t you marry Sally Lentz that you used to run with 
pretty freely ? A man so good and forgiving could cer- 
tainly forgive a stain on a w^oman’s name, especially when 
he’d created the stain.” 

Frank, as usual, was talking much too freely ; Ike 
was getting angry and red ; but then after all it was only 
Frank Hatton who was “ shooting off his mouth ;” and a 
good deal of allowance must be made for a brute, especially 
if his limbs are heavy and his joints especially sound. So 
he only said rather gruffly : 

“Oh come, Frank! Don’t be unreasonable! Men 
have rights, and sensible women don’t pretend to question 
them. A man’s health would suffer if he always re- 
strained himself. Now my wife is too sensible to make a 
fuss about Sallie Lentz or any other woman that I’ve 
been intimate with. Why, a really sensible woman thinks 
more of a man if he’s been intimate with other women.” 


A CONVERSATION BETWEEN RESIDENTS. 19 

De Kalb reddened. <‘Mr. Ransom.” be said, “ I cannot 
agree with you. I cannot believe that either a man or a 
woman prefers a stained creature to a pure one. Women 
indeed submit to shameful things, but it is because they 
have to do so. And as to health, I have watched that 
matter a good deal, and while I have known several young 
men die of excess and disease, I have known none suffer 
ill health from restraint. Now for myself, I inherit con- 
sumption ; my lungs are weak because my mother’s were ; 
but aside from that, I have not a single complaint, and I 
mean, by careful exercise and judicious living, to restore my 
lungs. And I am now, and will remain, until I am mar- 
ried, Mr. Ransom, just as free of any such indulgence, as 
your wife could possibly have been when you married her.” 

“ Ike Ransom, I thought you had too much sense to talk 
like that,” broke in Frank; “vice and whiskey are just 
what are making people trifling ; don’t I know that when 
I was eighteen years old, I could have flung all three of 
you at once, and I never had had a day's sickness or hardly 
an hour’s pain ; but about that time, you and Bill Howels 
and some more of you, got me started to drinkin’ whiskey 
and run n in’ to the dance-house, and now here I am at 
twenty-nine with enough aches and pains to make Hell 
look old-fashioned when I get there. I’ve been barely 
saved from small-pox once, and just got out of typhoid fe- 
ver alive twice : and I do think Goddlemighty never did 
a poorer job than when he saved me them three times. 
I’d blow my cussed brains out if it wasn’t such an infernal 
waste of powder.” 

“ Oh, but Frank, you’re always so unreasonable; now, 
if you liad only been moderate, and not took to lying 
around that old dance-house drunk for two weeks at a 
time ” 

“ Oh, yes, Ike Ransom, you go on singing your old song 
about moderation ! Isn’t a man that steals one horse just 
as much of a horse-thief as one that steals forty horses ? 
I tell you, Ike Ransom, there is one thing no man can 
accuse me of ; I never tried to mix respectability up with 
my cussedness. There’s no danger of any decent person 
gittin’ fooled on me. I wish to my soul that I was white 
and pure again, but it’s everlasting too late ; and I’ll not 
try to make up by shoutin’ decency and moderation and 
joinin’ the church and yellin’ for Goddlemighty, after 
runnin’ errands for the Devil all my life. If I do shak^ 


20 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


the Devil, I’ll try and shake off some of my devilish 
ways too.” 

The brute evidently had possession of the floor. Ike 
Ransom arose, muttered some reply between his teeth, 
and strode away. John Solomon, whose home lay in the 
direction of Ransom’s, accompanied him, after courteously 
bidding the others good-night. De Kalb arose and walked 
over to Frank. He took his arm and said: 

“ Hatton, you are right. Let’s walk down the road a 
ways.” And the two passed along in earnest talk, which 
was too lowly spoken to be heard by others than themselves. 
The sun sank, the atmosphere took on its evening chill, and 
the splendid moon rose, whitening all the distant peaks. 
The pellucid waters of Bowlder Creek rolled along over 
the rocks, and rippled over the gleaming sands, as 
cheerfully as if no angry words had echoed above them. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE FOOL. 

“I saw her just above the horizon, cheering and decorating the 
elevated sphere she had just begun to move in ; glittering like the 
morning star, lull of life, and splendor, and joy.” 

It had been the desire of the author to introduce each 
chapter in this little narrative with a selection from some 
one' of the world’s great thinkers — novels being very 
frequently adorned in this fashion — but when the matter 
came under careful consideration, it was remembered that 
the books in which the chapters were so introduced, treated 
principally of persons who were more or less sensible. Of 
course it would not be kind to arrange a work treating of 
a fool and foolishness in the same manner as one treating 
of wise people and wisdom. 

But there is one book quite well known to the world, 
whose contents treat of the peculiarities of a gentleman 
named Don Quixote, whose chapters are introduced by 
plain, original prose ; now since the principal character in 
this narrative was quite as quixotic as Quixote himself, 
these chapters will follow the example of those, and come 


IHE Foot. 


21 


before the public plain and unadorned. However, in thia 
one instance, an exception is made, because the words of 
the great English orator so well describe the lieroine, and 
because, as the neighbors all averred, she was sensible 
enough about some things. The “ elevated sphere ” was 
the position of music teacher on Bowlder Creek; the 
physical altitude is some six thousand feet, and the citizens 
of the neighborhood believe that the social, mental, and 
moral elevation is also worthy of note, as it no doubt is. 

It has often been said that a super-abundance of either 
education or beauty is quite liable to make a fool of a per- 
son. Our heroine possessed a very goodly allowance of the 
former and an exceedingly large share of the latter ; so it 
would naturally follow that her foolishness would be some- 
thing extraordinary. Gessia Antwerp stood five and one 
half feet tall; her form was perfect as a statue, and this 
perfection was carried down to her slender, shapely feet, 
and along her plump shoulders, down to her exquisitely 
moulded arms, tapering forearms, supple wrists, and beau 
tiful hands, whose fingers seemed always curved. Her 
classic face, with its dark, half laughing, half appealing 
eyes, was set in a rare halo of fluffy golden hair. The 
face was an unusual type — the brown eyes and dark heavy 
brows seemed to convey the idea that art had been called 
in to assist nature to produce a contrast to the golden 
braids ; but it was not so ; it was simply an unusual face 
bearing the impress of an unusual character. 

A club of eight of the wealthy cattle-owners and ranch- 
men of Bowlder Creek had decided that their children 
should be taught music, and Gessia had been employed as 
instructress. Her first appearance at church in the neigh- 
borhood was the cause of quite a flutter among masculine 
hearts, and considerable wagging among tongues both 
masculine and feminine. Those who were poorest in 
words, seldom said, She is pretty.” They hunted 
stronger terms. Perhaps no one in the neighborhood was 
more affected than John Solomon. He found himself neg- 
lecting his work very frequently during the ensuing week, 
and wondering if his fond dream of the angel might come 
true. 

But Gessia thought far less of her beauty than did those 
who looked upon her ; indeed, when she confronted her 
glorious image in the mirror, she often turned away 
with fear ; she was not indifferent to her charms, but she 


2 ^ 


tHE FATE OF A FOOt. 


greatly feared they might do harm — and her greatest fear, 
both for herself and those dear to her, was that in some 
way they might do harm. She remembered several men 
who had fallen in love wdth her when she had intended 
nothing of the sort ; she had been kind to them — she 
couldn’t help being kind to people — but that was all. She 
saw that her beauty, together with her kindliness and 
vivacity, was leading men to fall in love with her, and this 
she dreaded. She did not want people to be miserable on 
her account. She often wished she might find her fate ; 
that she might be happily married, so that men would no 
longer think of her as to be loved. No, it was not con- 
cerning her beauty that she was so foolish. The story of 
her folly will now be told. She looked forward to a 
happy marriage as the best possible destiny for her ; she 
believed that a home, a husband, and little ones, were 
things that tke best women should hope for and cherish. 
Friends had often suggested that with her gifts of face 
and voice, success upon the stage was certain ; but she 
remembered tnat when she had played in the home troupe, 
back in Canton, the other girls had been jealous of the 
furor she created. No, she would not go upon the stage 
and cheat people to whom nature had been less kind ; she 
was sure it would be better to wed the man she loved and 
raise a family of fine boj^s and girls — boys especially — 
how she loved dear, manly little fellows, with bright eyes 
and rosy faces ; and how much the w^orld needed good 
men ! And her boys would be such good boys ; she would 
do her duty as a mother — so many mothers failed to do 
their duty, and Gessia feared that was wdiy there were so 
many bad people in the world. She was not very well 
informed about bad people, but she feared there were a 
great many in the world — not one woman in a thousand 
of course, and not one man in a hundred ; — but even these 
were too many. It was wrong that the law should allow 
immoral things, or that society should encourage them. 
She was sorry that some women joked as she had heard 
them do about things that were impure ; she was bitterly 
sorry that there had been a house in Canton where bad 
women lived, and where some of the young men of the 
little city used to visit. The reader must not believe our 
heroine cold ; not at all ; she expected to love that noble 
husband who would one day claim her very devotedly ; 
but both their loves would be so pure, so grand, so noble. 


THE FOOL. 


23 


that even when passionate there would be nothing to blush 
for. You are thinking that Gessia was preparing to be 
disappointed ? Very likely. But the unsophisticated 
creature felt that she had a perfect right to believe so, and 
to hope and wish for a pure husband ; she knew that men, 
when they married, always, or nearly always, selected 
pure companions ; and she was foolish enough to reason 
from the masculine standpoint. If men wished their chil- 
dren to have pure and unsullied mothers, why should she 
not wish for her children a pure and unsullied father? 
She believed that the principal difference in the social 
habits of the sexes is not natural but created; she believed 
that if the ordinary boy were as carefully reared as the 
ordinary girl, that his nature would be very similar to 
hers ; she believed that if the ordinary female child were 
allowed to talk of all kinds of filth, were encouraged in 
foul jests, and considered a milksop if she failed to indulge 
herself to the utmost, that she would entirely fail of 
moral grandeur. She did not believe in the system of 
morals W'hich calls Fannie in to the protection of the 
home, and allows Tommie to play with any kind of chil- 
dren, and on any sort of back alley, until ten at night ; 
she reasoned that since all the protection and good counsel 
that are so generously lavished upon females fail to keep 
all of them pure, and since all the evil teachings that are 
showered upon males fail to make all of them bad, that 
the sexes are quite similar morally, save for the differences 
which custom and breeding have created. She did not 
believe that one sex should be the victim of the other ; 
nature had created the males stronger, and for that reason 
they demand what is agreeable to them ; she reasoned 
that a woman also might have a little prejudice in favor 
of a first love, an unpolluted embrace, and a spotless 
father for her children; she believed that a good name 
and an honor which is supplied by but one parent, can 
only be a one-sided honor. In fact, she w^as foolish enough 
to believe that the present broad, generous reasoning 
which so kindly forgives the man and visits eternal shame 
upon the woman, is all wrong and needs remodelling. 

She had been strengthened in these foolish opinions by 
the marriage of her dearest friend, Nettie Wicklow ; and 
the recital of a conversation between the two confidants 
will probably give the reader an additional insight into the 
foolishness of Gessia^s nature. 


24 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


It was back in Canton where Gessia had known and 
loved her friend ; Nettie had married Tom Brandon, and 
Gessia felt satisfied that her friend^s happiness was assured ; 
but one day there came a strange and sad revelation. It 
had taken place one Sunday afternoon when Gessia was 
in her room at her boarding-place. She was sitting read- 
ing when Net abruptly entered, saying as she did so : 

“ Gessia, IVe come over to bother you. Tom has gone 
off with some of the boys ; and I^m so lonesome and 
tired. Will I annoy you ? ” 

No indeed I I was lonesome too. I’m glad you’ve 
come.” 

“ And Gessia, I’m so worn out ; I was calling yesterday 
— ^I hate calling ; its so meaningless and shallow — like 
everything else. May I lie down on your bed? I’ll kick 
off my slippers.” 

“ Of course. Net.” How pretty she looked in her soft 
cream colored dress — all brides should wear cream or 
white until the honeymoon is well over — ^with her soft 
brown hair in that pretty coronet on the top of her head, 
and the fluffy curls falling over her white forehead. She 
patted the pillow and then plunged into it; but as she did 
so, Gessia observed that the movement was one of ner- 
vousness and restlessness rather than the old-time playful- 
ness. So she said : 

“You are tired, Net; I’ll put on my new blue silk, 
that I’ve been hoarding for so long, and cheer you up.’' 

“Well, trot it out. Anything for a change.” The 
answer was short and sour. Gessia could not understand 
the change in her friend who was wont to be the gayest 
of the gay; but perhaps she was sick — of course there 
was nothing else to make her cross, with such a good, kind 
husband as Tom. The new dress, though rather plainly 
fashioned, was very pleasing to the eye. Its long skirt 
and its graceful draperies fell about Gessia’s fine form in 
exquisite folds. As she shook out the shining loveliness, she 
turned to her friend and said : 

“Now Net, isn’t that just neatness itself?” 

Net put up her lip and said : 

“Why didn’t you make that skirt shorter? It doesn’t 
lack half an inch of touching the floor all around.” 

“ O, I like my skirts long, so that when the wind blows, 
there is no danger of my hose showing. This is no 
longer than the skirt you are wearing, Net.” 


THE POOL. 


25 


‘‘ Yes, but this is my skirt and tlir.t is yours ; if I 
believed in women’s rights, like you do Gessia, I’d wear 
trousers.” 

“ Now, Net, you are cross. Who said I believed in 
women’s rights ? I said I thought it was all right for a 
woman to be let vote if she wants to ; but I don’t want to 
vote. But if I did want to ever so much, I wouldn’t 
think that any reason why I should be immodest in my 
dress. I never thought that v^omen ought to dress like 
men in the least, although I often say that they spend 
time and money on dress that ought to be spent else- 
where.” 

“ O yes, I am cross, Gessia; and you’re a little angel. 
I knew it all ; but yet I intend to spend just as much of 
my time and money on dress as I possibly can.” 

“ Why, Net, you used to talk so differently ! ” 

“ I know I did. But I’ve learned a good many things, 
and I expect you will before you’re ten years older. I’ve 
found out that the world isn’t worth quite so much self-denial 
as you and I used to plan. But I’m not going to fret 
about it. I’m just going to start in and have a good time 
—dance, and dress, and flirt.” 

‘‘ Why, Net,” said Gessia in astonishment; “has mar- 
riage disappointed you ? ” 

“Oh, I’ll not say that it has. Tom is as good as any 
man, and better than the most of them ; but then mar- 
riage isn’t just what I thought it would be. Men are all 
mean in some way or other, and you might just as well 
make up your mind to it. I believe that nine out of 
every ten men run with mean women, and that the other 
one is too cranky to live with.” 

“ Well, I’ll take the crankiness ;” said Gessia firmly. 

“I won’t,” snapped Net. “I’ve concluded, Gessia, 
that a man has got to get rid of his meanness in some way, 
and if the men decide that a great lot of women shall go 
to the devil for their sake, why, we can’t help it, that’s all. 
We are nobody.” 

“ Oh, Net, how you have changed ! Well, I can’t and 
won’t believe that all men are so bad ; but if I have to 
put up with meanness in a man, I will take any other kind 
in - preference to vile associations. I had rather a man 
would quarrel with me, starve me, or even raise his hand 
and strike me ; yes. Net, I could forgive a man a blow 
easier than I could forgive him another woman. I know 


THE FATE OP A POOt. 


it is just as natural in a high-minded woman to want a 
pure, clean love, as it is in a man — it is more so even, 
for she has nothing but her love and her husband.” 

“Oh yes, Gessia, and it is just as natural for a poor 
mill-hand to want turkey and cranberry sauce for his din- 
ner, as it is for his rich employer ; but that is no sign that 
he gets them. It’s no use, Gessia. I’m just going to 
pretend I don’t care — dress up and have a good time.” 

Gessia looked pale and ^stressed. Net noticed her 
changed look and said : 

“ Why don’t you speak, girl ? You’re always so 
ready.” 

“I am afraid I’d say what ought not to be said.” 

“ Oh, out with it ! I’ve got the blues to-day. I don’t 
care what you say.” 

“Well it’s this: there’ll be a time when you are old. 
Net, and then the dancing — ” 

“ Oh, I’ll try and die before I get old.” 

“ But, Net, how can you have his arms around you — 
and let him kiss you — and live with him all the time, and 
not think of those other women?” 

Net leaped into a sitting posture. 

“ Gessia, dorCt 1 ” she shrieked. “ If you speak like that 
there can never be even the semblance of friendship between 
us ! I’m married to him — I’m tied to him — and I’ve got 
to live with him — and I don’t dare think of such things; 
it’s worse than scalding pitch to burn into my soul. Never 
open your mouth to speak like that, Gessia, if you want 
me to keep my reason ! Don’t shake my chains till their 
rattle drives me wild I” 

Gessia trembled under the storm she had raised ; she 
sank down into a chair with the bright silk dress in care- 
less confusion, and began to sob hysterically. 

“ Don’t cry, dear,” said Net, as she arose and began to 
smooth her friend’s hair; “I had no right to tell you. 
Each person ought to take care of his own trouble, and we 
women will all have enough to keep us busy. Don’t cry. 
I must go. Good-bye,” and Net drew on her slippers, 
donned her hat, and left the room. 

Gessia had never felt at home with her friend after that. 
She had already made arrangements to go to Colorado, 
where she thought employment at teaching music would 
be more constant and sure, and wages better; and when 
at last the broad plains were between her and her dear 


THE FOOL. 

friend, whose destiny was so painful, she was almost 
thankful to be separated from her. 

It is the evening of the ball in Deer Trail Park, where 
nearly everybody is to be present. Gessia is to go with 
John Solomon. She met him about a month before the 
date of the ball, and it was impossible to deny that her 
thoughts often dwelt long upon the tall, dark, handsome 
young man. She was a little alarmed when she found her 
thoughts turning to him the first thing when she awoke in 
the morning, and lingering about his image until the last 
rational thought had been succeeded by dreams, at night. 
She sometimes started with surprise, that her thoughts 
confined themselves to one man, instead of wandering 
among her masculine acquaintances; she wondered- if it 
were the tyrant Love, of which she had heard and read. 
If it were so, would it be unpleasant? Were not those 
hands strong enough to win bread for her? Were not 
those great, dark eyes true ? If it were really love, should 
she bid it cease ? Strange, yet in one month’s time she had 
learned to love — to follow the lead of one of the careless 
little archer’s arrows. But though her soul was limed, 
she knew it not yet. As she dressed for the ball she 
debated whether or not it were so. She donned the beauti- 
ful blue silk, and sighed as she buttoned the bodice over 
her white tliroat, because the dress made her think of poor 
Net. Then she arranged the soft cream lace about her 
neck, and wondered if John would think it becoming; she 
fastened a spray of cream roses upon her bosom, and asked 
herself whether John’s eyes would approve; she placed a 
shell butterfly in the coronet of braids upon her head, and 
wondered if John’s glance would linger upon it; she 
turned the one ring upon her finger, and wondered if John 
would ask permission to place another there. Then the 
rich warm color mounted to her fair cheek, and again she 
asked herself if it were love. When her toilet was com- 
plete she walked out of her little room, down the stairs 
and into the sitting-room, to be admired by Mrs. Sheldon, 
her landlady. John was already in waiting. Was she 
right? Were his eyes hungry as they dwelt upon her? 
She was sure tliat his hands were unsteady as he held her 
long cloak while she slipped her arms into the sleeves. 
They were soon seated in John’s comfortable carriage, 
headed toward Deer Trail Park. Oh, how delightful tho 


28 


THHi FATHl OF A FOOt. 


drive was! John never talked nonsense — there was always 
something agreeable to be discussed ; he had read much 
and well ; and if his perception was a little slow, why, that 
only made him the more agreeable contrast to his quick- 
witted, ready companion. 

The people who attend the grand balls in splendid city 
mansions, do not have all the enjoyment that is to be 
found in dancing. There is a restraint, a law of etiquette, 
a rule of decorum, and a fear of some one else’s ball sur- 
passing this one, that tends to create bitterness where 
mirth should reign supreme. It was not so with the 
dance” at the residence of Mr. Newton Blanding in 
Deer Trail Park. Here all met upon an equal footing ; 
there were present a half dozen of the first young people 
of Milroy City, but they were received with no more kind- 
ness and hospitality than were the cow-boys from the 
ranches round about. All seemed to throw aside restraint 
and to court good fellowship and enjoyment. Of course 
there were a few persons of doubtful character present, but 
then such might be found at city balls also. The large 
roomy mansion of hewed pine logs, the candles burning 
everywhere, the long fire of crackling pine, the juniper 
boughs over the windows, the merry violins, and last but 
not least, the delightful odors which ever and anon slipped 
from the kitchen into the long sitting-room, where two 
“ sets” were merrily tripping the light fantastic toe, to the 
pleasant air, ‘‘ The Girl I left Behind Me,” all seemed to 
argue that the evening would be a success. 

After Gessia had laid aside her wraps in the dressing- 
room upstairs, she was met at the door by John, who led 
her down to where the dancing was in progress. 

I have looked over the crowd,” he said, “ and you 
need not be afraid to enjoy yourself. There is no whiskey 
here, and the crowd is as good as can be expected.” 

‘‘ And why are you so particular ? ” she asked v/ith an 
arch smile. 

Why, I know that I ought not to bring you into a 
crowd that is not respectable.” 

‘‘ Certainly not,” she answered ; then she grew sud- 
denly grave and continued : “ But, Mr. Solomon, I would 
not hesitate to go among the worst people if by so doing I 
could benefit them.” 

‘‘ Well,” answered John, I should’nt like to be always 
tied to low people, and have to run with them.” 


THE FOOL. 


29 


Nor I, But those who have strayed from the straight 
path may be benefited; they cannot be made sinless, 
because the past can never be recalled ; but by our en- 
couragement we may induce them to quit their evil ways 
and help others.” 

‘‘But you ought not to be seen talking to such, Miss 
Antwerp. A young lady’s good name is easily clouded.” 

“ Oh, ho ! lio ! ” came in a rippling gurgle from Gessia’s 
white throat. 

“ What are you laughing at? ” asked Jolin, half vexed. 

“ Why, you men are so very particular about the good 
names of the young ladies you appear in public with. And 
yet you, Mr. Solomon, do not hesitate in the least to 
allow yourself to be seen talking to those Nolan boys that 
such dreadful stories are going about.” 

“ Well, I know those Nolan boys are dogs — perfect 
dogs. But then you see — you know, Miss Antwerp — a man 
has business to attend to — he has to mix with the world, 
even if it does not exactly suit Jiim. But then I keep as 
clear of such as I can. They are just forming again. Let’s 
stand at the head of the first set.” And John, proud to 
exhibit the lovely lady at his side, took his place in the 
most conspicuous position in the room. 

The violins played “ Captain Jenks,” and Gessla soon 
forgot her argument as she hurried through the dizzy 
whirl. When that dance was done, she danced with Bill 
Ely, then with the eldest of the Price boys, then with Dan 
Miller, the best shot on the Creek, then with Ed Hol- 
comb ; and then, tired and exultant, she found a chair at 
the upper end of the room, partially screened by a large 
bundle of overcoats upon the back of another chair ; she 
trusted to the coats to shield her from seekers after partners, 
for she wished to rest from the merry amusement. But 
the screen was not effective ; she saw Mr. De Kalb com- 
ing toward her. She had met him but twice; would he 
ask her to dance ? She hoped not, she was tired. 

“ Are you going to ask me to dance ? ” she asked gaily, 
as she held up one finger as a warning. 

“No, indeed, I am not ; at least not yet. I came over to 
protect you from yourself. I have seen you flying about 
all the evening, and feared you were taking too much exer- 
cise ; here, let me wrap this around you ; you are so warm 
and the fire is so far away.” And he took down from a 
nail on the wall, the long knitted scarf which he had worn 


30 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


to protect his throat and breast from the sharp air of the 
highland night. He wrapped its fleecy folds about her, 
even winding it over her arms, pinioning them to her sides. 

“And what have I done to be shackled thus ? ” she 
asked; “what crime have I committed?” 

“ The crime of wearing thin sleeves. You have noth- 
ing but lace below your elbows. When I saw you come 
over here, I knew why you had come — that you were tired 
of dancing, and wanted to rest ; but I knew you would 
take cold, and that brought the thought of my mother; 
she was never strong, and she told me that her ill health 
was greatly aggravated by exposure when she was in soci- 
ety. She died when I was but ten years old, and my life 
has been only half a life since. And now if you do not 
object, I "will sit here and act as knight-errant on this side, 
while the overcoats protect you from partner-hunters on 
that.” 

A wave of pleasure swept over Gessia’s face. Life 
was very sweet ; the scent of the juniper boughs, the 
merry crackle of the burning logs, the gaily dressed and 
laughing guests, and this kind, noble man by her side, all 
preached the doctrine of universal happiness. 

“ But,” she asked ; “ are you not warm ? Will you not 
take cold ? ” 

“No; I have danced but little; I am not unnaturally 
warm.” 

Then followed a long conversation upon books, music, art, 
and all manner of deliglitful things. The ball, the music, 
the gay company were all forgotten, until one of the floor- 
managers slapped De Kalb on the shoulder and informed 
him that his number was being called for the third time. 

“ Do you feel sufflciently rested for some more of this 
delightful nonsense?” asked De Kalb of Gessia. 

“ Oh yes ; I shall feel proud to tread a measure with 
my knight protector.” 

She met the eyes of John Solomon ; he was half frowning 
and evidently displeased. She was pained. That old 
fear that her beauty and vivacity might do some one 
wrong, arose within her. She feared that John was 
jealous, and moreover she feared that she did not want him 
to be jealous, or displeased with her in any way. Mr. Do 
Kalb was very pleasant and inrelligent, but she did r.ot 
think of him as a suitor whom she could encourage. She 
could not imagine such questions flitting through her 


THE FOOL. 


31 


brain in regard to him as had that very evening assailed 
her in reference to John. So she resolved to encourage 
Mr. De Kalb no more, and to let the future take its course. 
She attended no more balls in Deer Trail Park, and as 
Mr. De Kalb’s school closed shortly after the Blanding 
party, he went into the northern part of the State without 
meeting her again. 

She and John were together almost constantly during 
their unemployed hours ; they took delightful gallops over 
the hills, they took long drives in John’s buggy, they 
walked out to the near hills to get gypsum to cut statuettes 
from ; they talked, they confided in each other, they sang 
and they loved. They seemed to agree upon every sub- 
ject ; life in each other’s presence was life divine, and life 
separated from each other was little better than death. 
And one evening as they walked in from the gypsum beds, 
they paused in the gathering dusk because they found that 
the words had some how been spoken which pledged them 
as husband and wife. Both were surprised that the 
question had been asked and answered — it must have been 
the outcome of nature — but it was over, and Gessia was 
clasped in her lover’s arms to receive her kiss of betrothal. 

After she arrived at her boarding-place, she went to her 
little room to think it over. Oh, t!ie exultant happiness ! 
The wild throbbing of her heart that threatened to burst 
its walls. But how she pitied poor Net, who would never 
be happy, she was sure. She had asked John if he 
approved of men doing as the Nolan boys did ; and he had 
answered indignantly that he did not. She laid her head 
upon her pillow while her lips moved in prayer for rich 
blessings upon her betrothed. 

Upon awaking in the morning she again thought it all 
over ; she had known him a little less than half a year ; 
but the neighbors, who had known him all his life, spoke 
nothing but good of him ; there was nothing but good, and 
so why even think it over ? She had no parents to consult, 
they had left her long ago ; and her aunt had often said, 
that in matters of marriage, each person must choose for 
himself. Her aunt was her nearest relative. Gessia 
would write and tell her what she had done and ask her 
blessing. Gessia was sure that if she was suited the world 
ouo-ht to be; for was it not herself that had to live with 
him ? 

There is no occasion for making a short story long; 


32 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


humanity’s time is too valuable to be wasted over len^hy 
descriptions of ordinary occurrences ; and love and marriage, 
while infinitely grand in themselves, are common every- 
day occurrences. An engagement is a. very unsatisfactory 
state of affairs ; it causes the parties interested to think too 
much upon a state where there is no parting ; and it is im- 
possible to dwell too much upon future bliss without allow- 
ing present joys to pass unnoted. John became so much 
the victim of happiness to come, that upon the evening, 
just forty-eight hours after the promise had been given, he 
came over to talk seriously to Gessia. Gessia had said 
that it should be in three months. John saw no use of 
putting it off*. The cottage on his ranch would do very 
well to begin with — it could be made larger after a few 
years. It had five rooms, and all they needed was a coat 
of paint and kalsomine. He had no furniture but such as 
bachelors keep house with, and he and the hired man had 
only pretended to use three of the rooms. But there were 
some beef cattle to sell that would pay for carpets and fur- 
niture, and even a piano, provided pianos did not come too 
high. The whole house could be made to look like Eden 
in a week, and it was so lonesome ; he never knew how 
lonesome it was until she promised to come and brighten 
it up. Why was not tliis day, a week, the very best of 
times ? There was a painter and paper-hanger annoying the 
life half out of him for a job — his wife and childi'en needed 
every description of comforts. Then Gessia was worry- 
ing her life almost away trying to teach the youth of 
Bowlder Creek to get a little music out of their 
parlor organs without spreading the idea of an Indian out- 
break. What had she to say to this day a week ? 

Gessia thought it over for a few moments ; after all, why 
should they M^ait three months? Was she nottwo-and- 
twenty, and capable of knowing her mind ? She decided 
that the three months was a mistake, and that this day 
a week w^as just about the proper time. After arriving at 
this decision, she had to submit to a storm of caresses from 
John, but then they were not disagreeable. Then John 
shortened his call ; there was the paper-hanger and painter 
to hunt up ; plaster of Fails had to be ordered, along with 
glue, window glass (the latter article is often sadly needed 
in the repair of bachelor premises), carpets, furniture, and 
no end of things. Gessia was taken along to help select 
the finer articles, and then it became widely known that 


▲ SHADOWED WEDDING. 83 

‘‘John Solomon was going to marry the pretty mnsic 
teacher, that did not have a dollar to her name.” There 
was a fearful din within the neat cottage ; the dust flew as 
it had never flown before, and ere the week was out the 
new furniture and carpets were in. And upon the even- 
ing named, Gessia summoned her music pupils to her 
boarding-place, while John brought out his mother and 
the Rev. Mr. Sharp, who was celebrated in no small 
degree for his long sermons. The ceremony was of course 
rather long, but then perhaps that was well, as it was the 
only feature of the wedding ; the pupils cried, and good 
Mrs. Sheldon wiped her eyes, while her susceptible hus- 
band coughed frequently. The groom’s mother, however, 
looked rather severe ; the bride was pretty enough and 
smart enough, she told herself, but then those everlasting 
lost cows ! John had not displayed the business tact she 
would have liked to see. But then young men would be 
young men, and as he was her only son she would stand 
by him. 

The marriage had taken place at five in the evening; so 
immediately after the congratulations, John took his 
mother and the minister back to town ; then he returned 
to escort his bride to her new home. 


CHAPTER V. 

A SHADOWED WEDDING. 

Has the reader ever noticed how one wedding in a 
neigborhood produces a perfect storm of love-making and 
marriage ? Why is it that the bliss of one happy couple 
incites others to seek similar bliss, or at least to make a 
similar venture for bliss ? 

Within a week after the marriage of John and Gessia, 
two more weddings took place in the Bowlder Creek 
neighborhood ; one being that of Sam Ely and Kittie Smith, 
and the other that of Frank Hatton and Sallie Lentz. 

Now if the reader will shoulder a very large bag-ful of 
self-control, and send his mind to this latter wedding, he 
may rest assured that no harm will befall him therefor. 
It took place on Tuesday evening ; the Solomon wedding 
3 


34 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


had taken place on the Monday, and the whole neighbor- 
hood was busy talking about the occurrence. It was now 

late in the afternoon and Parson Blakesly of the 

church, Milroy City, was leaning against his garden fence, 
carefully studying a little cloud which hung over the hazy 
range, trying to ascertain whether said cloud meant snow 
or only wind ; for in the windy, deceptive, fickle month of 
March, who can tell what storms may rage within twenty- 
four hours ? To be sure the sun was shining warm enough 
just now to induce the bees out of their hives ; but what 
might the mercury of to-morrow tell ? Let the reader 
not inquire in what church Mr. Blakesly officiated as 
pastor ; if the secret w^ere told the charge would be in- 
vestigated and every church in Colorado arise en masse 
and vehemently declare, swear, assert, and affirm, that no 
such unorthodox, cranky, down-at-the-heel minister ever 
disgraced its pulpit. The afflicted church often excused 
itself for having such a pastor ; the members were poor, 
and even if they were able to pay a larger salary, they could 
not raise money enough to build a new parsonage ; and 
not every minister would be as content in the little adobe 
kennel as was Mr. Blakesly. Then there was Mrs. 
Blakesly; she of course, was cranky too ; but then she was 
an excellent nurse, and often saved the church members 
paying doctor bills ; then too, Mr. Blakesly mended boots 
and shoes at low wages all the week, and thus took nearly 
all the burden of his support off his church’s shoulders. 
The dollars and dimes thus saved to the members took 
away part of the sting caused by the unorthodox sermons, 
but not all. The church was often called upon to apologize 
for the erratic proceedings of its pastor. 

The old man stood watching the cloud; his long face 
was marked with heavy lines that showed deep thought 
and perhaps heavy burden ; but neither time nor trouble 
had dimmed the lustre of his warm gray eyes, in which 
kindliness and benevolence shone. The thin gray hair 
about his temples, his tall emaciated form, and his thin, 
long hands, gave him the aspect of one who is well-nigh 
ready to lay down the burdens of life. But perhaps this 
gaunt aspect arose more from hardships and privation than 
from the flight of years ; for although the world did not 
know, Mr. and Mrs. Blakesly had often gone supperless 
to bed because some one else was hungry. As the cloud 
began to lighten and spread, the minister suddenly per- 


A SHADOWED WEDDING. 


35 


ceiyed a seedy young man standing before him; the 
visitor’s frame was massive and tall, with powerful, muscu- 
lar arms and hands ; but the brand of dissipation was 
prominent upon his heavy features, and wine and revelry 
had cast a film over eyes that had once been clear, honest, 
and kindly. “ Good evening. Sir ; ” said the young 
man ; I believe you are a minister.” 

“ Good evening ! Good evening ! Yes. Well now, I 
don’t count on being much of a minister, but then I try 
to do my best to hold the church together. Open the 
gate and come in.” 

“ No,, I thank you. I may as well tell you my business 
at once. My name is Hatton, and I want to be married 
this evening. I’ve been to every preacher in town, but 
they won’t come — seem to think I’m setting a trap for ’em, 
or something. The girl lives down at Old Fat Sue’s 
place. Sallie Lentz that’s my girl’s name — and I — are 
going to turn over a new leaf. I could git a justice, but 
Sallie wants a preacher. We’re all ready, but the preachers 
all seem above going to such a place.” Mr. Blakesly 
nodded vehemently, then strode to the front door and 
thi'ew it wide open. 

“Nancy,” he shouted; “put on your best black 
alpaca and your new bonnet ; there’s going to be a wed- 
ding down at Sue’s place. Mr. Hatton is going to be 
married to Miss Lentz.” 

“Yes, Eben, I’ll be there in a minute,” came the an- 
swer clear and decisive. 

The minister came back to the fence. Hatton was per- 
fectly dumbfounded. 

“ You don’t mean, do you, for your lady wife to go 
down there among those bad w^omen ? ” he asked with a 
gasp. 

“ And why not ? ” asked the minister, reaching his hand 
over the fence and grasping that of Hatton. “If circum- 
stances had been with your bride as they have been with 
my wife, one would have been as pure as the other ; and 
if my little adobe church at the end of the garden there, 
were suddenly transformed into a mighty cathedral, whose 
organ would sound to the skies, it would not make me so 
joyful as what you have told me. The average man who 
sins against holy love, and who finds only bitterness to 
result therefrom, will, as the first vindication of a changed 
life, desert and revile and refuse to help the women who 


36 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


have been his companions. His morals, however, are not 
improved, as he would fondly believe ; no, for he has 
added injustice and ingratitude to his sin, and not all the 
acclamations of society can atone for the wrong he does 
when he takes a pure woman to wife. But, Hatton, you 
are a brave man, and if the justice of the Lord is sure, 
as I believe it is, you will prosper and be happy. 

By this time Mrs. Blakesly emerged from the front 
door, industriously tying her bonnet-strings. She was 
more stoutly built than her husband, and two black eyes 
danced with cheer beneath her gray hair. 

“Now here,” said the minister, “you just talk to Mrs. 
Blakesly while I put on a clean collar, and brush my 
hat.” But Frank did not talk to Mrs. Blakesly; the 
w^orld was changing too rapidly around him ; for years he 
had considered himself the most sordid of brutes ; and 
now here was a minister of the gospel telling him that he 
was a hero. He looked down at the figure he was 
drawing with his heel in the sanded walk, while great 
tears fell from his eyes. He was mentally resolving that 
the fearful weight of calumny and shame which he knew 
society would cast upon himself and his wdfe, and upon 
himself for chosing such a wife, should never keep them 
down. No, they, hand in hand, would disregard the 
world, and rise in spite of its frown. He knew that if he 
could succeed in winning a spotless woman, and w'ould 
heartlessly cast aside her who loved him in spite of his 
filth, that the world would forget his crimes ; but the 
same world which would have forgiven him the ruin of a 
dozen women, as soon as he professed that he had done 
sowing wild oats, would never overlook the fact that lie 
had righted one woman’s wrongs. But he remembered 
that the advice of his companions was wLat had led him 
wrong at first. He had never gained much by listening to 
tlie world, and he resolved from this on to listen to liis 
conscience. As in a dream he heard the door of the par- 
sonage closed ; then he heard the gate shut to, and the 
minister and his wife step out into tlie w^alk. The old 
couple chatted pleasantly about the beautiful day as they 
walked by his side, but he answered not, nor did he raise 
his eyes until the trio paused at Old Sue’s door. Frank 
opened the door and motioned his companions to enter ; 
they found themselves in a room with soiled, tawdry fur- 
niture, and a carpet that had once been gay and bright. 


A SHADOWED WEDDING. 


37 


but was now faded and soiled. Five weary, faded, spirit- 
less looking women arose to greet them. Frank went 
through the formula of introduction : 

“ Mr. and Mrs. Blakesly, Mrs. Brown ; Miss Orange ; 
Miss Nelson ; Miss Allen ; then he approached a pale, 
shivering creature who stood apart, and taking her hand, 
laid it in that of Mrs. Blakesly ; “ Miss Lentz,” he said 
in a low tone ; as the girl felt the touch of that pure, 
warm hand, she reeled a moment and half* fell, her bride- 
groom supported her and she bowed her burning face 
upon that wrinkled hand ; wild, fierce sobs broke in quick 
succession from her lips, and her slender form shook like 
one of the mountain aspens that were bending to the 
breezes far above her. Her wild sobs became infectious 
and every woman in the room, save Old Sue, w^ept for 
company. Old Sue — or Mrs. Brown by courtesy — had, 
instead of feelings, the coarsest of human attributes, and she 
looked with disgust and alarm upon the tears of her girls ; 
she had been greatly opposed to Sallie’s marriage, and now 
what if her other girls should also be induced to leave 
her ! 

“ O Sallie,” said Frank, as he wiped his own red and 
bloodshot eyes ; “ donH take on so ; I told ’em we were 
going to do better.” Mrs. Blakesly quietly soothed the 
bride, and so gentle and sweet was her manner that calm 
was soon restored. The parties then seated themselves 
and a short conversation was indulged in. The minister 
ought of course to have hurried through this disreputable 
business as quickly as possible, pocketed his fee, and hur- 
ried home ; but there was a quiet eloquence in the faces of 
these sad, lost creatures, that appealed to both him and his 
wife. 

The gaudy finery in which they were dressed could not 
give them comeliness, and the paint upon their wasted 
cheeks could not hide the lines of shame and sorrow 
which the hand of dissipation had traced; where once 
had been prettiness and purity were now only haggardness 
and sorrow. So the minister and his wife talked for 
them, but not of their deep sinfulness. They talked of 
the beautiful weather, of tbe great climatic advantages of 
the town, of the prospects for an early Spring, and of the 
lovely view of the mountains to be had from their window. 
The women answered only in monosyllables ; and though 
the sobs had ceased, many a tear continued to fall upon 


88 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


wasted hands, .for the gentle current of the talk carried 
them back to a time when life had been better than it 
was now. Finally there was a pause ; it was broken by 
Frank Hatton, who said in an unsteady voice : 

‘‘Well, Mr. Blakesly, I believe we are ready whenever 
you are.” The minister rose to his feet, and as he did so 
the other occupants of the room followed his example. 
Frank stepped to the side of his bride, and to support her 
trembling form, di’ew her hand through his arm. 

“ My friends;” said the minister, “ we are met to- 
gether to join two loving hearts in marriage. It is writ- 
ten that it is not good for man to be alone ; therefore God 
has given him woman to be a helpmate to him, to share his 
joys, to lessen his sorrows, and to create for him that sur- 
est of refuges from sorrow and evil, a home. Now I re- 
quest these two dear friends, who are already united in 
heart, to join their right hands. Frank, do you take this 
woman whom you hold by the hand to be your true and 
loving wife ?” 

“ I do ; ” came the answer in a hoarse whisper. 

“ Sallie, do you take this man whose hand you clasp to 
be your true and loving husband ? ” 

“ I do,” came the answer with a sob. 

“ Then I pronounce you to be husband and wife ; and 
what the Lord in love and affection has joined together, 
let not man put asunder. Let us pray. Oh God, our 
loving Father, we ask Thee to look down and bless the 
two loving and penitent hearts which are henceforth one. 
We ask Thee to look down in tender mercy upon the in- 
mates of this house, and to let the day of their deliverence 
be near at hand ; bless thy unfortunate children every- 
where and hasten the day which shall punish the offender 
rather than the victim. We feel, O Lord, that Thou art 
mighty to save, and we ask Thy blessing, for the sake of one 
who paused to teach the truth even to such as these. 
Amen.” 

All had knealt as with one impulse at the words, “ Let 
us pray.” They now arose simultaneously, and the poor 
girls clung sobbing together, while the minister and his 
wife congratulated the bride and groom. Mrs. Blakesly 
kissed the bride, and spoke hopefully of the future — she 
even so far forgot herself as to whisper in her ear an invi- 
tation to tea the next evening. The reader is doubtless 
quaking at the awful recklessness of the Blakeslys; 


A SHADOWED WEDDING. 39 

but then it is to be remembered that people are always 
braver when they have nothing to lose. Mr. Blakesly had 
but little to lose, and he preferred being blameless before 
his conscience rather than before his congregation ; and his 
wife — well, people, when speaking of her, always said that 
she was just as cranky as her husband. 

When the congratulations were over there was an anx- 
ious consultation among the imates of the house. It was 
carried on in whispers, and was finally brought to a close 
by Sue pushing forward the girl who had been introduced 
as Miss Nelson and saying: 

“ Go on, Jen.” The girl stepped up to Mrs. Blakesly 
in evident embarrassment and said : 

“ Sue wants to know if you’ll stay and eat supper with 
us, ma’am.'* 

‘‘Well now,’* said Mrs. Blakesly, “ It’s real kind of you 
to think of it. It’s quite a walk down here, and I 
don’t care if I do eat a bite. But don’t go to any trouble.” 

There was a hurried exit of all the females save the 
bride, and the humming of a kettle and the clatter of 
dishes announced that a meal was being prepared. Pres- 
ently Jen entered the room, and coming close to Mrs. 
Blakesly, said in a low tone : 

“We thought you might not like to sit along with us ; 
so you can eat first if you’d rather.” 

“ My sister,” was the answer ; “I had rather not. Let 
me sit along with you. I shall not enjoy my supper unless 
my hostesses eat with me.” 

Tlie meal was soon announced. Mr. and Mrs. Blakesly 
were shown to the head of the table, but they objected to 
this ; the bride and groom must have the first place ; so 
Frank and Sallie sat at the head of the table, side by side, 
with the minister at the side of the table nearest the bride, 
and his wife on the opposite side nearest the groom. Be- 
side the minister sat poor Jennie Nelson, and next to Mrs. 
Blakesly sat the two other girls, while Sue sat at the lower 
end of the table and took charge of the teapot. An effort 
had been made to put a respectable look upon things, but 
still the garish air which pervaded the whole house was to 
be found on the table; it had a look of showy wretched- 
ness. The supper consisted of baker’s bread and cakes, 
butter, canned fish, canned fruit, and tea; it was not home- 
like ; it was all soulless food, un sanctified by home prepar- 
ation it was bought, like the poor creatures who served 


40 


THE FATE or A FOOL. 


it. But there was no wine on the table ; while supper was 
preparing, one of the girls had brought forward a decanter 
and glasses, but Jen had said “ No ! no ! They will not be 
pleased and the decanter and glasses had disappeared. 

During supper, the clerical pair carried on a lively and 
cheerful conversation, drawing the girls out and making 
\\em talk ; Mrs. Blakesly talked in a general way about 
Jie great scarcity of kitchen help and sewing girls and 
the excellent wages paid. 

“ I used to be a sewing girl;’^ said Jennie, bursting into 
tears. “ It was in New York, five years ago. But the 
wages were so poor, and times were so hard. I used to 
make fine white shirts for seven cents a piece ; and things 
to eat and rooms were so dear. Mother was sick and had 
to have medicine, and it seemed impossible to pay for all 
the things needed. I went to my employer one day, after 
I had been working a year and a half, and told him that I 
had to keep mother and that she was sick, and that I 
thought I had been faithful enough to him to have my 
wages increased. He said that he would do so if I would 
give up my honor, but I told him I’d die first. But when 
I went home and found mother sicker than ever, and no 
fire, and no money to pay a doctor, and not half bed- 
clothes enough to keep her warm, I got desperate. My 
employer came to me the next day and asked me if I’d 
decided to take his offer and I told him I had. I bought 
some blankets and coal and employed a doctor, and when 
mother asked me where I’d got money, I just told her my 
pay was increased for being faithful. She was satisfied, 
but she died in a few weeks, and I was glad of it. I didn’t 
want her to live to know. I knew it was wrong of me, 
but I couldn’t hear mother cough in that cold room and 
not do what I could for her. Pretty soon he got tired of 
me and discharged me, and told all around that he had 
been keeping me, and then I couldn’t get decent employ- 
ment. It seemed as if everybody in the city either knew 
what I was or would find out in few days ; I came out 
here, and was doing well till one day I met a man that 
knew me in New York, and then everybody found out all 
about me and I gave up and came to the dance-house.” 

The story ended in a sob. 

Miss Nelson,” said Mrs. Blakesly, I know several 
good, sensible women who want girls to help about the 


A SHADOWED WEDDING. 41 

house and do sewing. If you will come home with me 
to-night, I will try to find some one to take you.” 

“ Oh,” sobbed Nannie Allen ; I was treated worse even 
than Jen. I was engaged to marry a young man, and he 
threatened me that if I didn’t give up to him that he’d say 
I had, and ruin my good name ; but if I would he’d marry 
me and be good to me. I loved him, and gave up to him, 
and pretty soon I got into trouble. Then he wouldn’t 
marry me, and I was going to law him ; but he got about 
half a dozen young men who agreed with him that they’d 
swear that I was common, and they had had as much to 
do with me as he had. I saw it was no use to fight him, 
so I withdrew the suit, and resolved that if there was no 
law to protect us, that I and the little baby would just go 
to ruin. My folks wouldn’t let me stay at home ; my little 
baby came dead, and I took to this. But I always re- 
gretted one thing. I wish to this day that I’d killed that 
man : for I’d rather have murder on my conscience than 
what I’ve got.” 

Then the minister shook his head. ^^No my sister,” 
he said ; “ be thankful that you did not. After all, it is 
better to be the victim than the tyrant. Be thankful that 
you have been wronged rather than regret that you did 
not commit a crime. The man may have deserved death, 
for he deserted his child and ruined its mother ; but the 
Lord is the one to avenge. Be thankful that there is no 
blood upon your hands ; it is far nobler to suffer than to 
inflict suffering. 

Then Tillie Orange spoke. “ I was only fourteen years 
old,” she said, when I was left an orphan. I hired 
out to a man who was a church member to keep 
house and do general house work. I was strong 
and healthy, and I knew all about work ; so I thought 
I would do well. People all told me how thankful I 
ought to be for such a good place ; my mistress was kind to 
me, and I was happy and satisfied. But pretty soon that 
man got to insulting me every time he saw me alone. I 
complained to a neighbor woman who belonged to the 
same church, and she told me she didn’t believe me; 
that my master was too good a man ; and that if there 
was anything in it, it was my fault. Then she told me 
that I’d better keep still or I’d lose my character, and be 
talked about. Then I tried to get another place ; but he 
found it out, and told it round that I wasn’t worth wages. 


42 


THE Fate of a fool. 


I had no home, and after what he’d told I couldn’t get 
another place, so I stayed on. He kept coaxing and 
bribing and threatening till finally he had his will. After 
a while I found that I was going to be in trouble and dis- 
grace, and I told him so. He turned me out of doors, and 
laid the blame on the stable-boy, and he was a good young 
man, if ever there was one. Master raised a great fuss, 
and told what a disgrace had come to his house, and said 
that he’d make the stable-boy marry me. But I said that 
he shouldn’t — that no one but the guilty one should right 
my wrongs. Then he cried around before his wife and the 
neighbors, and declared it was a plot between me and the 
stable-boy to ruin him, and get money; and, of course, 
everybody believed him. I had to go to the poor-house, 
and my baby was born there. I went to work as soon as 
he was old enough to be taken out, and did the best I 
could. He lived to be eight years old, and I never loved 
anything or anybody but him, and yet I was glad to see 
him die. The people where I w^orked just called him a 
bastard, and kicked and cuffed him about till I got to 
hating them, so that many a time I was tempted to kill 
some of them. Finally he took scarlet fever and died; 
and then I wrote to his father and told him that he need 
not try to get to heaven ; that I’d sent a witness there that 
would tell his story and bar the door to him forever. I 
just hated everybody ; so I took to this, and I don’t see 
any way out of it but the river.” 

The bride now spoke; “ Its no use of me telling a long 
story,” she said. “I know I’m to blame, but I can’t 
believe that I’m so guilty as some one else. I had no 
mother, and father was a drunkard. I started to going 
with a young man that I thought wanted to marry me and 
give me a home, but I found out better. He got me to do- 
ing wrong when I was only sixteen years old. People call 
him a leading citizen now, and me an old strumpet, and 
somehow I can hardly believe it’s all right.” 

A dark flush mantled the face of the bridegroom ; for 
once the lines of dissipation disappeared beneath the storm 
of fury which arose. At last he spoke with thick, heavy 
utterance : 

“Yes,” he said; “eleven years ago Sallie here was a 
pure sweet girl of sixteen, and I was a boy of eighteen, as 
good and hopeful as any you’d find. Ike Ransom was 
older than either of us ; he got Sallie to doing wrong, and 


A SHADOWED WEDDING. 


4a 


kept at me until he got me to drinking and running to the 
dance-house. After a while he married, and by cheating 
people, and getting hold of cattle somehow or other, he has 
got be a rich man and an influential citizen. Sallie and 
I are two of his victims.” 

“ My son,” said the minister warningly ; “ be not dis- 
couraged. The ordeal of fire through which your bride 
and yourself have been forced may have burned away all 
your cruelty and selfishness, and may have prepared you 
for the noblest of lives. The world is full of dark places, 
and those whose eyes have long been accustomed to dark- 
ness are the proper ones to go into these gloomy haunts 
and lead the struggling inmates out to the light of day. 
When we, who are most accustomed to day go there, we 
see only darkness; our eyes cannot discern the human 
beings who are there struggling with guilt. It is possible 
for you and your bride to rise to the noblest heights of 
excellence. And to the lady who has told of the perfidy 
of her church-going master, I have this to say : it is the 
awful truth, — the more shame to the church that it is so — 
but it is the truth, that the church harbors villany just as 
deep and as subtle as does the State prison. But let us 
not for this reason lose faith in true religion, and in the 
mercy and justice of God. Because evil rushes up and 
strives to stand at the right hand of good, we must not lose 
respect for the guiltless ; they are even more to be honored, 
becaused they have remained unsullied in spite of their 
polluted surroundings.” 

“ Sir,” said Tillie Orange, “ I ask you to do me a 
favor, the last I shall ever ask of you.” 

“ I will do it gladly,” answered the minister ; but hope 
that it may not be the last. ” 

“ It is this ; that before you go to rest to-night, that you 
and your wife kneel down and offer to the God you serve, 
one fervent prayer for the rest and peace of my soul. Al- 
though I have completely lost faith in the efficacy of reli- 
gion, as the world applies it, and in the good of churches 
as the world rears them, I still believe in a God whose 
.ears are open to the wailings of absolute despair, and I 
believe that you and your wife are two of his ambassadors ; 
and I ask that you do not pray for the welfare of my 
body, nor for my earthly happiness ; for I am as a straw swept 
over a cataract, and it is just as futile for me to attempt to 
climb back to happiness and respectability as for the straw 


44 


THE PATE OP A POOL. 


to ascend the falling torrent to its place of starting. But 
pray for my soul. It may be that the Lord you serve has 
fitted up a place of rest and solace for such as I ; and if 
you believe that he has, pray that my soul may therein 
find refuge from these torrents of shame that never upon* 
earth will cease to beat against me.” And before anyone 
could reply she arose, and left the room. Mrs. Blakesly 
softly whispered something in the ear of Nannie Allen. 

The sun had long since set and the dusk was beginning 
to gather. Mrs. Blakesly and Mrs. Hatton began to don 
their wraps, for Frank had said that Sallie was not to stay 
another night in that house. Together with Jennie Nelson 
and their husbands they bade good-night to Sue and Nan- 
nie, and passed into the street. Scarcely had the door 
closed, when Sue broke out into bitter invective ; she was 
one of those coarse, brutal creatures, who imagined that 
silk and velvet were better than chastity and honor ; she 
cared only for show and gain, for rich food and highly 
spiced wines, and she cared not how much innocence and 
chastity was sacrificed so that her wants were supplied. 

“ The d — d old hypocrite ! ” she hissed ; “ to come 
here and sneak my girls away ! It was bad enough for 
Sail to get married, without them old fools cornin’ here 
gettin’ the rest discontented. Jen ’ll be back here in a 
week or two, half starved and ready to act sensible. I 
hope. Nan, you ain’t such a fool.” 

“Oh, I suppose it’s the. best I can do,” answered the 
girl wearily. 

“ Of course it’s the best you can do ; you’ve got good 
clothes and good grub. What more do you w^ant ? ” 

“ Oh Sue, — people — starve to death — on those things. 
I want my good name again.” 

“Well you’ll never git that ’ere again; so you might 
just as well behave yourself. Where’s Till ? ” 

“ I heard her upstairs awLile ago.” There was now a 
a sound of footsteps on the stairs, but Tillie Orange did 
not enter the parlor. Soon there came the sound of the 
opening and closing of the kitchen door, and then Nan 
saw Tillie passing the window in her plainest walking suit. 
She ran out and caught her hand. 

“ Where are you going. Till ? ” she asked. Till pressed 
her hand and drew her a little way up the street. 

“Don’t tell Sue, or any one” she whispered. “I’m 
going to tl\e river. I hate this life. Here, take this 


A SHADOWED WEDDING, 


45 


pocket-book ; there’s enough money in it to ship my body 

to L City and bury me by my boy ; and if my body’s 

found, I wish you’d see to it, Nan. But if they don’t find 
it, you take the money. Nan, and use it to get to be a good 
woman.” 

“ Oh let me go too. Till.” 

“ No, you are younger. Try to be good. Kiss me. 
Good-bye.” And without tear or sob. Till hurried up the 
fast-darkening street. Nan’s heart was sick within her. 
How she hated her life, with the intolerable shame, the 
coarse familiarity of brutal men, the garish finery over the 
bleeding, suffering heart. But then she was young, and 
life might one day be sweet, if only she could shake off 
these vile associations. She was not quite ready for the 
river, yet how she hated that house ! But the night air 
was cold and sharp, and the house was her only refuge 
from it. She must go in, but not as she had gone before ; 
she entered at the kitchen door, and hurrying up stairs she 
closed and locked her door and wheeled her bed against it. 
Sue, hearing all this noise, came up and rapped angrily on 
the door. 

What are you about, Nan Allen ? ” she shrieked. 
“ You are in my house ; open this door.” 

“ Sue Brown ; ” exclaimed Nan ; I’ve locked that door 
to stay locked all night ; I don’t intend to see any one to- 
night and you’d better let me alone. I’ve got matches in 
here and if you or any one else undertakes to force your 
way into this room. I’ll set the house afire and burn it and 
myself up.” 

“ I’ll bring the police ! ” screamed Sue. 

‘‘ They won’t make the fire burn any slower ; and I tell 
you. Sue Brown, that if you don’t let me alone. I’ll do 
just what I say.” Sue, after expending a deal of strength 
cursing, decided to let the door alone ; she went down 
stairs murmuring fearful threats against the Blakeslys in 
particular, and cranks in general, for their interference 
with her business. 

As Nan took some thought of herself and her situation, 
she saw how unsafe she was ; she knew that if several 
determined men undertook to burst in her door, that they 
could readily do so before she could raise the conflagration 
she had threatened. She knew, too, that the gentlemen 
who visited Sue’s house, would not hesitate to demolish 
her door, and would not listen to Sue’s entreaties or remon- 


46 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


strances. She knew that since she was the only female in 
the house, save the mistress, that she would not be per- 
mitted to remain hid. “ Oh, if I only could get away 
from this cursed town ; ” she muttered. She was so young, 
and life was not quite all bitterness yet ; the sun was still 
bright, the stars still twinkled, the birds still sang for her, 
and the river shone and rippled. If she could get away 
and be a good girl, perhaps some young man might love 
her ; she would tell him all her story, and perhaps there 
miglit be a little cottage, with some pretty children play- 
ing about it ; she had heard of men who were generous. 
But how could she get away ? Who would help her ? 
People would know her, and her story would follow her 
everywhere she went. But since it was worth trying, she 
would try. If she could disguise herself until she got out 
of town, the suspicion that she had suicided might arise, 
and thus she might keep her story from following her. 
Frank Hatton had often done odd jobs of work for the 
house, and had made it a sort of head-quarters, and now 
Nan remembered that there was an old blouse and a pair 
of old trousers of his in Sallie’s room. She moved her bed 
as quietly as possible, unlocked her door and slipped out, 
secured the articles, then returned and re-locked her castle. 
She must be quick ; she could not expect to remain undis- 
turbed long. She went to her glass, parted her hair on 
one side and taking her scissors, cut it short around her 
head after the fashion known as ‘‘bobbed.” She then 
dressed Iierself in the masculine apparel, buttoning the 
blouse up over her feminine underwear, and thanking for- 
tune that the blouse was not a coat. Although she was a 
large girl the clothes were much too roomy for her, but 
she remembered that youngish-looking men sometimes 
wear clothes that look roomy. Then her feet — she had 
only her delicate feminine shoes, but over these she drew 
on her arctics, and these made her feet appear nearer the 
masculine size. She took up her winter hat and looked it 
over ; fortune favored her — it was a broad-brimmed black 
felt hat ; she hastily snatched off the trimmings, and 
although the hat was left without either band or binding, 
still it miglit pass very w^ell for a man’s slouch hat. Then 
she folded into as small a bundle as possible her discarded 
dress and the trimmings of her hat, together with needles, 
thread, and other little articles she might need. She also 
took away the locks of brown hair, less they tell the story 


A SHADOWED WEDDING. 


47 


of her disguise. She knew that no one would think of 
Frank’s old clothes— might he not have taken them away? 
She put her purse into her pocket, unfastened her door, 
and went to the staircase to listen. She could hear Sue 
talking with some one in the parlor, but the kitchen was 
dark and silent. Her arctics would make no noise, so she 
stole softly down stairs, through the dark kitchen and out 
into the street, where the very air which blew upon her 
hot cheek seemed to breathe liberty. She hurried toward 
the little depot and reached it just in time to secure a 
ticket for a small town in a distant Western State, before 
the shrieking, groaning eight o'clock train came in. 

About half an hour after Nannie’s departure, Mr. Will 
Hammil, who had decided to spend the evening at Old 
Sue’s, arrived and laughingly heard that lady’s angry 
recital of the events of the day, and of Nan’s perverseness. 
“Why, Tom Jackson was here a while ago, and went 
away rather than try to bring Nan round, after she’d 
locked herself up,” added the mistress with great bitter- 
ness. 

“Did he now? Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Mr. Hammil. 
“Well, I thought Tom had more sand. But she won’t 
stand out against Tne. I’ll soon get her to open the door.” 

And Mr. Will Hammil, who was one of the chief social 
lights of Milroy City, and very proud of his prowess with 
the ladies, hurried up stairs. But when he found the room 
deserted and its furniture exhibiting signs of a hasty de- 
parture, he returned to Sue, and after delivering himself 
of an exceeding choice and varied selection of profanity, 
he told Sue that if things kept on that way, that a young 
man wouldn’t be able to have any decent enjoyment at all. 
Several more fastidious gentlemen soon arrived and 
assisted in serving up the latest styles of profanity. The 
chance of slipping in more girls from other towns or of 
seducing a few native ones was taken under advisement ; 
for of course the town could not go on without a thriving 
dance-house. Then arose the present shameful state of 
the town — a dance-house with the girls all run away — 
and the profanity re-commenced. Frank Hatton was 
cussed for marrying one of the girls — Sallie was cussed 
for letting herself be married — the girls generally were 
cussed for so far forgetting the interests of the young men 
as to run away, and the Blakeslys were roundly and fear- 
fully cussed in a way that was calculated to make the air 


48 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


smell of sulphur. It may just as well be remembered 
right here, that the course pursued by the Blakeslys 
elicited more profanity from the citizens of Milroy City, 
than any event that had occurred in a dozen years. Old 
Sue and all her customers cussed, because the business 
was ruined ; all good citizens cussed, because Mrs. Blake- 
sly had set such a fearful example for their wives ; the 
prominent members of the church met together and came 
as near cussing as their consciences would permit, because 
their church had been disgraced so eternally. Of 
course,” they said, “ if the couple wanted to be married, 
that was all right. Why didn’t they come to the minis- 
ter ? But the idea of him going to that house, and taking 
his wife, and of them shaking hands all round, and of her 
kissing the bride, and then of them sitting down and eat- 
ing with the wretches ! ” Now of course, if the minister 
had been some young man, who had visited the house for 
a different purpose, the church members would have sim- 
ply remarked that young men would be young men, and 
have speedily forgotten the matter. But Mr. Blakesly had 
visited the place with the purpose of saving the inmates 
rather than that of assisting in their destruction, and that 
was too serious an offense to be lightly passed over. 

But after the lapse of nine days, when the cussing had 
somewhat subsided, one thing had to be acknowledged — 
the dance-house had received an exceedingly black eye. 
Yes, somehow, and without telling them how vile they 
were, the Blakeslys had awakened in the breasts of the 
poor girls a longing for a nobler life, in consequence of 
which the dance-house had melted away. For at the end 
of the nine days, Sallie Hatton was keeping house for her 
husband on the ranch he had rented; Jennie Nelson 
boarded with the Blakeslys and supported herself by sew- 
ing for a few people almost as cranky as themselves ; 
Nannie Allen had fled, no one knew where ; and 
upon the morning after the wedding, the body of Tillie 
Orange was taken out from among the cakes of ice on the 
river, with a calm on the white face never more to be dis- 
turbed in the revels of sin. The same day the minister 
had received a letter, mailed on the train, and signed 
Nannie Allen, containing a sum of money, requesting him 

to ship the body of Tillie Orange to L City. He 

attended to this at once. Sue tried valiantly to get more 


JL DAY DREAM AND A NIGHT DREAM. 49 

girls, and when she found this in vain, she gave a last long 
wail of piofanity, and shook the dust of the town from her 
feet. 


CHAPTER VI. 

A DAY DREAM AND A NIGHT DREAM. 

An author is generally satisfied after he has married 
his heroine to the man she loves. He is content to leave 
her in safe hands. But the author of this work starts out 
with the absurd theory that love alone will not produce 
happiness, and she therefore proposes to follow a certain 
pair beyond the altar and note the peculiarities of that 
secret life, which, by the consent of all, is more or less hid- 
den from the world. 

John Solomon had gone to Milroy City in the morning. 
It had been Gessia’s first day alone since her bridal, and 
she had made good use of it. The house fairly shone ; she 
had polished the table-ware, cleaned the windows, swept 
the bright carpets and dusted the new shining furniture ; 
she tastefully arranged the room which the hired man was 
to occupy, when he should come; she straightened out 
every tidy and re-placed every ornament in her bright 
little parlor. How she loved the cosy cottage, and how 
thoughts of John whirled along with the broom and the 
dusting brush ! John had mentioned a hired girl ! The 
idea ! Why, keeping house for John was better than danc- 
ing in fairy land. 

Supper was cooking now, and would need no attention 
for half an hour; so she left the buns rising, the beef 
slowly stewing, the potatoes baking, and the dried apricots 
gently simmering, and went into the parlor, where she 
drew up a rocker before the grate and sat down. She 
gazed into the fire. There was no smile upon her face, 
but there was ecstasy. She had been a bride two weeks, 
and she wondered why any one would endure single life. 
She felt that the burden of her bliss was more than she 
deserved — it was so deep, so heavenly sweet, and would 
be eternal, while so many women had only loads of misery. 
4 


60 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


Poor Net, now. The thought of her tempered her happi- 
ness, but could not destroy it. How sweet would be the 
coming years — the thought of them was like standing at the 
top of some palace staircase and looking down over long 
vistas of light and splendor, stretching away into gardens 
of ferns and palms, where silvery fountains forever played, 
where bright birds chirped and chattered, and where lovely 
children laughed and sang. They would live on this ranch 
forever, and would make of it an Eden; her old age 
should rest where her bridehood had exulted. When her 
hair was white she would still look upon these lofty trees, 
and upon these meadows, where grazed fat cows and sleek 
horses. The house would be larger. Of course it must 
be enlarged as the years rolled on, for there would be 
little children, and children need so much room in which 
to play and grow. How her heart exulted at the thought 
of them, with their dear little soft, pink faces, their spark- 
ling mischievous eyes, and their laughter and song. How 
they would climb upon her lap and nestle their little warm 
bodies upon her arm. And John would be there, too, and 
the children would run and leap upon his knees, and pull 
his hair, and climb upon his shoulders. She would play and 
romp with them ; then she would sing to them in the early 
evening until they dropped to sleep, the older ones on the 
carpet, and the baby in her arms. Then, still singing and 
crooning, she would undress them, and John would come 
forward and carry them away to rest. Then her husband 
would be all her own again ; he would come and sit down 
beside her, draw her head upon his bosom, and then would 
come those sweet memories of the past and plans for the 
future that are so dear to married hearts. 

And bye-and-bye they would be old ; the children would 
all be gone to homes of their own, but John would be hers 
for time and eternity. She would still sit within his arm 
in the eventide and pass her wrinkled fingers through his 
whitening hair ; his faded face would be just as comely, 
and his eyes as bright as now ; his arm would be less strong, 
and would not clasp her so tightly, but his kiss would still 
be warm and loving and true. And when they were both 
very old, and their eyes dim, and their hair snow-white, 
death would claim them. She hoped that both would hear 
the summons at once, and that the kind neighbors who 
put them away, would place her with her head on John's 
arm so that their dust might mingle forever. 


A DAY DREAM AND A NIGHT DREAM. 51 

The cold March wind sighed and shrieked outside ; it 
lifted the shutters and drove them forcibly against the 
house ; its song was dismal and suggestive of cold and 
drear ; but to Gessia it was music ; it told of the warmth 
and security of her life, so well sheltered from winter’s 
chilling blasts. She arose from her chair and went into 
the kitchen to put the buns into the oven ; how beautifully 
the potatoes were browning ; how sweet the odor of the 
apricots ; how juicy seemed the beef, and how light and 
spongy were the buns ; and just as the latter were turning 
a rich golden color, John entered the room, to clasp her in 
his arms and cover her face with kisses. How bright and 
happy was the supper hour, and how merry was the dish- 
w^ashing afterward ; how comically John wiped dishes — just 
like a man for all the world ! And when the work was all 
done, and the dish-water thrown out into the cold and com- 
fortless back yard, where there was no such happiness as 
there was in the house, John seized her in his arms and car- 
ried her away to the parlor. As he placed her in the 
rocker, he whispered in her ear : 

“ Now you musn’t quarrel with me, Gessia, but I had a 
fuss with Bill Ely to-day.” 

“Was he mean to you?” asked Gessia in sudden alarm. 

“ Oh he is always trying to pick a quarrel with some 
one. I told him to-day that if he ever tried to pick another 
one with me, that I’d give him all the fuss he wanted. 
You see, Gessia, I never liked fighting, and I’d be more 
against it now than ever since I have you to think of ; but 
that fellow talks so mean that I get out of all patience.” 

“ Why need you care what he says ? ” asked Gessia, as 
she arose from her chair and seated herself on his knee. 
“ I intend to care only for your good opinion and my own. 
We ought to be all the world to each other, and if neigh- 
bors want to jangle and quarrel, why let’s give them to 
understand that we are too secure in our own happiness to 
care for them. I wish the neighbors well, but then I do 
not care for their ill favor so long as we are happy. Cheer 
up now.” And she pushed back her sleeve and wound 
her warm, bare arm around his neck in the very perfection 
of coquetry, and ])ressed her warm face against his lips. 

“O, John,” she said; “you are worthy of adoration 
rather than love.” Jolm’s arm tightened about her waist, 
but he did not speak. Why should he speak? What 
was there to say ? He gloated over his bliss in silencci 


52 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


and mentally compared the glowing beauty in his arms 
with the haggard creature who had been allotted to Frank 
Hatton. 

The Hindoo planter, as he gloats over his fair bungalow, 
his broad fields and his rich possessions, dreams not of the 
earthquake which in an instant may lay waste his all, and 
bring the surging waves of the muddy river to lap the fair 
garden where once stood his home. The vine-grower on 
the slope of Vesuvius toils and laughs in utter disregard 
of the lava stream which. may flow out and render him a 
beggar. The prairie farmer and his wife sit at their door, 
drinking in the exquisite air of the waning afternoon, all 
thoughtless of the cyclone which in half an hour may 
sweep by. Evil is something that is to visit some one else. 
We are to be spared; it will sweep by us. The earth- 
quake, the lava stream, and the cyclone are, we fondly 
tell ourselves, meant for other people ; and when they fall 
upon us, even though we invite them, we cannot under- 
stand. 

At the thought of Frank Hatton, John’s face darkened ; 

Gessia,” he said, “ I’m sorry about one thing.” 

“ And what is that ? ” 

Why that brute of a Frank Hatton has rented the 
Davidson ranch, that joins ours, and has moved there. 
Of course he brought out that thing he married, and she’ll 
be over there, right under your nose, and I don’t see how 
you can help associating with her.” 

‘‘ Oh, don’t worry about that; she won’t hurt me ; I’ll 
treat her well, and that will be all there is to it.” 

“ Oh, I’d rather you’d never speak to her ; she’s nothing 
but an old strumpet.” 

“ Why, John, she’s just as good as the men that 
associate with her.” 

John’s face darkened ; he had feared that his darling 
wife would be a little obtuse in regard to moral matters ; 
he had heard her say things before marriage that tended 
to show that she believed in moral equality ; it was an 
abominable doctrine. Ike Ransom, who was such a good 
business man, had said that any sensible woman would 
think more of a man who had been in scrapes with other 
women. Gessia would be a perfect angel if only he could 
make her see things right — only make her be sensible 
about moral matters. He must get these ideas out of her; 
a woman ought to know that her husband is a different 


A DAT DREAM AND A NIGHT DREAM. 55 

sort of creature from herself, and must have more privi- 
leges. This fool way of thinking, that some people had, 
that a man ought not to have privileges that he denied 
his wife, was ridiculous and fanatical, and he did not 
propose to tolerate any such nonsense in a wife. Of course 
he would bo very gentle with her ; but cure her he must, or 
there would always be trouble from her so readily express- 
ing her opinion on such subjects. So he put on a long 
face. 

“Now Gessia, my sweet, you are unreasonable,” he 
began. “ All men that have any enterprise go with such 
women more or less. It’s nature. But then the women 
are not fit for you to associate with.” 

Gessia was startled. “Did you say aU men, John?” 
she gasped. 

“ I said all that have any enterprise. I’ve seen a few 
milk-sops that would’nt go about ’em.” Gessia was turn- 
ing pale, and an awful fear was arising within her ; she 
slid down from her husband’s lap and stood looking at him, 
as if she feared he were attempting some fearful jest. 

“ You needn’t look like a ghost,” he said. “ I’m not a 
bad man. I’m not the purest, and I’m not the worst, by 
any means. I believe in moderation in all things ; I never 
went to a dance-house but about four times, and then that 
was away off from here, where no one that knows me 
would know of it.” 

Some blows come so quickly, so unexpectedly upon us, 
that our only sense is one of numbness. Gessia’s world 
turned black ; the room, the light, the crackling fire, the 
sweet home seclusion, all vanished, and there were left 
only fiends from Hell, hissing in her defenseless ears. She 
was not looking at her husband — not at anything. Her 
eyes had lost their present power of seeing, and became 
only windows to show the awful torture in her soul. Con- 
sciousness was gone — she had a dim sense that she had re- 
ceived a fearful wound, and that some hope which she had 
cherished for years was stricken and dying. Even her 
husband’s slow sense was alarmed as he gazed upon her 
pallid face and quivering lips. 

“ Don’t look that way, Gessia,” he exclaimed. “ I 
never stayed to laugh and joke and drink with ’em, like 
some fellows did.” 

Her husband’s words brought back the subject and, par- 
tially, reason and sense. But the light that came to her 


54 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


benumbed intelligence was as the beams of day, struggling 
through begrimed dungeon windows. She remembered 
what had been said — that her husband’s purity and honor 
. — all that had made life sweet and tolerable — were gone 
forever. But when she heard the same voice which had 
boasted the greater sin, disclaiming the lesser fault of jest- 
ing with the creatures he had embraced, her spirit arose 
within her, and with all her noble aspirations turned to 
venom, she resolved to do battle for her cause. But when 
she found her voice, it was thick and heavy ; her tongue 
seemed covered with a deathly slime. 

“ I have talked and laughed with the Nolan boys,” she 
said with husky utterance, ‘‘because I thought I might 
encourage them to leave off their evil ways. But even 
after that, I should be ashamed to boast that I had given 
up my body to their lust. Why do you boast the filthiest 
of crimes and then attempt to excuse yourself by disclaim- 
ing a peccadillo ? ” 

O, Gessia, I never thought of it in that light ; I went 
because — because men have to go to such places. Men 
can’t restrain themselves. I did’nt stay to talk and laugh 
with the women, because I hated the low creatures.” 

“ You gave the fondest embrace to creatures to whom 
you were too proud to talk ; let me inquire, sir, if you 
even paused to ask their names ?” 

“No,” shrieked the husband; “ T did’nt care anything 
about their names. I went to them because I was suffer- 
ing — that’s what they are for ; and they are necessaiy — 
whatever you say — I paid them like an honest man, and 
left them.” 

“John Solomon,” said the trembling, stricken woman, 
“ask yourself whether a brute would have done worse 
than you have ! Ask yourself whether any tribe of beasts 
possess a lust so fierce that they set aside a large number 
of the females of their kind, who must cease to bear young, 
cease to mingle with other females of their kind, and exist 
only to cool the passions of their masters?” 

“Gessia, you’re making a downright fool of yourself! 
And if you were a man you wouldn’t talk so to me ! I 
tell you, men have passions that they cannot control.” 

“ Have they ? Then how did the foul and filthy Middle 
Ages produce a Bayard ? How do you account for our 
own Ellsworth, whose only mistress was his country, and 
upon whose bosom he died ? How do you account for the 


A DAY DREAM AND A NIGHT DREAM. 55 

thousands of scientists and philosophers, who spent their 
lives inside of monasteries and died pure as they were born? 
When you say that men cannot control their passions you 
have uttered the foulest slander upon mankind. It is 
simply an argument to make a helpless woman yield to 
shame. If I believed it, I’d abandon my house and take 
to the woods. If we are brutes let us be brutal, and not 
affront nature by mingling the immortal reason of man 
with lust more insatiable than that of the lowest beast. 
You say that those women are necessary. If they are, 
why do you forbid me to speak to Sallie Hatton ? If they 
are necessary, they are honorable ; and their houses quite 
as respectable as eating-houses and hotels, and good people 
ought to be proud to be seen with them. No necessary 
human act is disgraceful ! ” 

“ Gessia ! Gessia ! be reasonable ! ” 

“ Reasonable ? Reason as well as hope has fled. For 
the last two weeks I have been living in Heaven ; but the 
God upon whose right hand I sat, has transformed him- 
self into a fiend, and has hurled me down from my 
Paradise into a Hell more fearful than ever the wildest 
curses of a demon portrayed ! All my life, I have guarded 
my lightest word and thought, that I might keep myself pure; 
and for what? Only to be linked at last to a man who 
has reveled in the breath of the most degraded female 
reptiles, and helped to sink them lower than they already 
were ! ” 

If you were not a crazy simpleton, you’d be thankful 
you’d done so well. I never seduced any young girl, like 
lots of men have. I went to women who were already bad, 
and paid them like a man.” 

“ If I had given my body up to any foul vile tramps, 
whose names I did not even know, would you care to in- 
quire whether I had led astray any young man? You are 
also a seducer, for you sunk every one of those women 
lower than she already was ; you put one more step 
between her and the purity from which she had fallen. 
You call yourself a good man, and your condemnation of 
the men who ran to the dance-house in Milroy City, helped 
to blind and deceive and win me. But how can you hold 
up your head when you are demanding that a set of creatures 
shall give up home life, purity, good name, and heaven at 
last, simply to cool your passions? ” 

‘‘ Gessia, I know that lots of those women are brought 


56 


THE FATE OF A FOOL, 


there by deception ; but many of them are of themselves bad, 
and would choose that life of themselves.” 

“ Perhaps they would. What satisfaction then does it 
give you to boast that you have selected voluntary crim- 
inals to receive your dearest embraces ? ” 

“Gessia, you haven’t a particle of reason; you’re just a 
woman out and out ! ” 

“And supposing the woman to be willingly vile,” she 
w'ent on, “she is even then better than you, for she sins 
for bread, wdiile you sin only for lust.” 

“Do you mean to tell me that I’m worse than a 
strumpet ? ” he hissed. 

“Would you take up a piece of fruit that had been 
mouthed, fingered, and eaten of by every vile, filthy man ; 
caress it, eat of it, and go aw^ay with self-respect, simply 
because you had paid your filthy gold for the privilege ? ” 

“ Oh, Gessia ! you — must — allow — a little. A man is 
w^eak that w^ay. He can’t stand to have temptation brought 
right before him, and then be strong enough to resist.” 

“ Did those women hunt you up and tempt you, or did 
you hunt them up and tempt them with money ? ” 

“Oil, Gessia!’* 

“Tell me, please. You began the story without me 
asking for it ; but now I insist that it shall all be told.” 

“ Oh, I w^ent to the house of course. But I was led 
into it. Ike Ransom coaxed me, d — n him.” 

“ Ah ; you were led into it. A while ago you told me 
that you could not help it. That men could not control 
themselves. It seems to me you are tangling up your 
statements a little. And there is another thing, John, 
you said aw^hile ago that such houses were necessary; now 
that you have admitted that your attendance there was not 
of your own judgment, I ask if you still think them ne- 
cessary ? ” 

“Yes,” said John, In a loud, defiant tone, as if at last 
he were sure of tenable ground. “ They are a protection 
to decent women. Lots of men are so bad that no 
woman would be safe from violence if there were not such 
houses where they could go and cool their passions ! ” 

“And how did they become so bad? Were they not 
once pure? Can you imagine the first false step of any 
man to be an outrage upon a helpless woman? No; it is 
only because such houses exist, that such passions exist. 
It is only because a man has fostered and trained his evil 


A DAY DREAM AND A NIGHT DREAM. 57 

nature at such vile dens, that he beconos a creature who 
despises purity and scoffs at the rights of virtue.” 

John began sulkily to pull off his boots ; neither his 
face nor his manner was so jubilant as when he began to 
tell his story. He felt himself a fearfully abused man. 
Any woman ought to be proud of him, but here was his 
wife roundly upbraiding him — even him — whose modera- 
tion was so exemplary ! 

“ If your passions were so fierce, was there not marriage 
to be resorted to ? ” persisted Gessia. 

“ A man is not always ready to marry.” 

“ And because he is not, some woman must receive shame 
and social ostracism.” 

“ AVell Gessia, you can’t reason. There isn’t a bit of 
charity or generosity about you.” 

“ Is it reason to submit myself to a man who boasts his 
shame ? Is it charity to forgive that which links me with 
crime and perpetuates the shame of my sister woman ? Is 
it generosity to forgive in one who is stronger than I, a 
crime for which I would always loathe myself? ” 

John threw his boots violently into a corner. 

“Are you going to bed? ” continued Gessia. 

“Yes, I am; I came home here, tired out, and worry- 
ing about that fuss, and expected cheerfulness and consola. 
tion, and not such brawling as this.” 

“As long as I believed myself your wife, I gave you all 
the cheer and comfort you could ask ; but now, I say, if 
you want comfort, go to your wife.** 

“ Who is my wife, if you are not? ” 

“ The first woman whom you embraced is your wife, and 
no other can be while she lives ; marriage consists in the 
willingness of two people to live together ; the ceremony 
is only the sanction of the law. I have the honor to come 
in fifth ; and though yourself and the law will doubtless 
consider me your wife, I well know better — I am only your 
bond-woman.” 

“ Maybe you’d rather I’d have kept it from you. Lied 
about it.” 

“ I should never have asked you — I trusted you too 
wholly. If it was told, it should have been done before 
marriage ; and then if the conditions did not suit me, I 
could have avoided them. But what good can come of 
your dragging your bygone filth into my presence now, 
when avoiding it is impossible ? As long as you were not 


58 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


honest enough to tell me before marriage, I had rather you 
had kept it to yourself. Put yourself in my place, and 
imagine yourself tied to the leavings of the Nolan boys, 
and a few more like them, and then picture your happi- 
ness.’^ 

“Well, it’s done now, and I can’t help it;” snapped the 
complacent John, as he stalked into the bed-room and 
slammed the door. He was very angry, and if it had been 
any one but a woman who was talking so, he would have 
made short work of the argument ; but of course he would 
not be rude to a woman ; he believed that men ought to be 
good to women, even if they were cranky; he supposed 
all women were more or less cranky. But the idea of 
Gessia thinking she knew what she wanted ! Almost a 
child, as far as experience went — did not know a thing 
about the world — the idea of her thinking she knew what 
was best for her ! Why, did not all the books he had read 
tell about some wild young man, who had first thought of 
giving up his evil ways because he fell in love with some 
beautiful girl, who was pure as snow ? And did not he 
give up the said evil ways, and marry the girl, in spite of 
six or eight decent, but slow young men, who were courting 
her ? and did not they two always live afterward as happy 
as two doves in a cote ? And did not the newspapers all 
warmly commend the action of a certain Princess of 
Germany, because she returned to a false, licentious 
husband, and tried to win his love? And did not the 
people all say that a woman that knew the world, would 
look over all the little scrapes a man had been in before he 
was married, and a reasonable number afterward ? And 
did not Ike Ransom say that a sensible woman would 
think more of a man who had relieved himself than of 
one who was too much of a milk-sop to do so? The idea 
now of Gessia presuming to set herself square against the 
books, and the newspapers, and the people, and Ike 
Ransom, and talk as she did! He actually laughed at 
her silliness in spite of his anger. He would not be rude 
to her, though ; he would be patient — he had already been 
very patient — and since her silliness was the result of 
ignorance of the great, generous world, he would continue 
to be patient ; and he fell into a deep, heavy sleep. 

Gessia sank into a chair before the fire, and tried to read 
its blaze. But she was too weary. She had exhausted 
her strength in fighting a useless battle for a lost cause. 


A DAY DREAM AND A NIGHT DREAM. 


59 


What mattered now that her argument had been strong, 
and the right upon her side? The jewel she had loved 
and fostered had long ago been tarnished, and where there 
had been love and confidence, there was now only disgust 
and despair. She was too weary to direct her thoughts, 
so they assaulted her defenseless state with their most 
hideous aspects to the front. Her day dream arose before 
her, but its memory was fearful ; the future life which had 
been wont to look so fair became a barren and desolate 
plain, where gloomy clouds lowered eternally; and upon 
this plain the dream -children which she had fondled and 
nursed, contorted themselves in fearful and loathsome 
crimes, while far at the edge of the plain, fleeing like 
affrighted phantoms from the devils which pursued behind, 
shrieked and hurried away all the hopes she had been 
years in building. When our cherished idol turns to base 
clay and crumbles at our touch, leaving its grime upon our 
hands, tears fail ns ; there is only wonder, horror, and 
despair. We feel that all the confidence we have reposed 
in our fellow creatures is misplaced — trust becomes agony, 
and love becomes mockery and hate. 

And as bitter thoughts arose unbidden and wildly beat 
against her, there came before her the memory of a story 
which her grandfather liad told her in the long ago. It 
was that of an aged Indian, who upon journeying into a 
strange land, saw upon a high mountain something which 
in the sunlight shone bright and resplendent ; he imagined 
it to be the wampum of the Manitou, which cures all 
diseases and brings back youth. He climbed long and 
wearily over rocks that bruised his feet, and over thorns 
that tore his flesh ; nor lost hope when the blood oozed 
from his moccasins, and the sweat stood in beads upon his 
brow. And when at last, with briar-torn flesh and aching 
limbs he stood at the goal, he found it was only mica, whose 
false glitter had lured him to this useless toil. And so, 
miles away from his people, weary, footsore, and broken, 
with only his blasted hope for a pillow, he lay down before 
the alluring destroyer, and died. Gessia felt that her soul 
had fought just such a battle with the thorns and rocks of 
tlie world, only to die at last before the false glitter of a 
heartless deceiver. 

But do the wheels of life stop rolling? do the remorse- 
less, unpitying hours stop recording the march of time, 
because our souls die within us ? Gessia sat by the dying 


GO 


tHE FATE OF A FOOL* 


fire until its embers were only ashes. Thought had died 
within her, and there was left only dullness, weariness, and 
the memory of a death-blow. But she was aroused by 
the indignant voice of her husband. John had awakened 
from his heavy sleep, and found that she was not beside 
him. He wondered to what fearful extent her silliness 
would lead her — sitting there in the cold just because he 
had done what all manly men did ! How he was disap- 
pointed in her ; he had thought that if any one were 
cheerful and sensible, that she was so ; he had expected a 
little misunderstanding over this matter, to be sure, but not 
such foolishness as this. How gay and bright she had 
always seemed ! And now, after all his care in choosing, 
it looked as if he were to be bothered with a cranky wife. 
He must stop this nonsense. He called out indignantly and 
commanded her to come to bed. Gessia started. Was it 
true, after all ? Must she go back to the old life, that had 
all turned to bitterness and shame? Back to the love, 
always to be associated with the memory of crime, and 
yield her lips to a kiss that was pollution ? It was true. 
Her husband had law, society, and custom on his side. 
There was no help, save the disgrace of what the Avorld 
would call a causeless flight or the awfulness of self- 
destruction. She arose, and leaned her bead against the 
mantel-piece. Was self-destruction so terrible, after all ? 
To be sure she had always despised those who resorted to 
suicide because they were not brave enough to endure the 
continued defeats of life; but that was before she had 
tasted the bitterness of those defeats ; that was when life 
was joyous and fair. She fingered her husband’s pocket- 
knife which lay upon the mantel-piece ; — but that would 
not be a fitting departure for such a tortured soul — she 
would die too quickly — there would be nothing in the 
pangs of dissolution to drown her shame and make her 
forget the phantoms that hissed in her ears. No ; it would 
be no expression of her suffering — she would run and get 
the lamp, all lighted as it was ; she would dash it against 
her head until it broke and saturated her clothes with 
oil ; her writhing, tortured soul should go out through 
flame and smoke; perhaps the fangs of such a death would 
strike deep enough to kill the stings of mental anguish, 
which might otherwise keep watch over her dying 
moments; she thought of her girlish vows that she 
would not live with a stained man — of her long array of 


A DAY DREAM AND A NIGHT DREAM. 


61 


dead hopes — of the laughter and mockery of the world 
if she should fly — and again she raised her eyes to the 
lamp. But slowly returned that hatred of the weakness 
that prompts self-destruction. Must she, who had always 
deplored that weakness in others, turn at the flrst blow of 
the unfeeling world, and all against the dictates of nature, 
set her crushed spirit free ? Had not slaves and captives 
borne with their woe until God had set them at liberty? 
And should she be less firm than these ? She, who was 
both a slave and a captive ? Ah, yes, she was both a slave 
and a captive ; for her wedding-ring had become a shackle, 
and her marriage-certificate a committal to a life prison. 
She gave a quick, sharp cry, like some creature in pain, 
and began to disrobe. 

How unwise Gessia was to mourn so over the death of 
her foolish little hope. But ah, our hopes are our chil- 
dren, and no matter what their weaknesses, we weep when 
we see them fade and die. We have given them birth; 
we have cherished and nourished them ; we have loved 
them because they are ours. Others cannot be expected 
to feel towards them as we do. The author once attended 
the funeral of a young man to whom nature had denied 
reason and intelligence. For twenty years he had been a 
burden to his family. Heath claimed him. The neigh- 
bors said it was a blessing for him to die — he would no 
longer trouble his friends. But not so his old gray-haired 
mother; she had borne him, had nursed him, and for 
twenty years had been accustomed to his incessant 
demands upon her time. He was hers, and she had lost 
him. She refused to be comforted. Her friends and her 
bright, intelligent children gathered around her and 
preached resignation and calm. The mother finally 
schooled herself into a sort of outward quietude that 
endured until the minister was concluding the funeral 
services. Then her self-control gave way. She threw 
up her wrinkled hands, and cast of her black shawl, and 
with her gray hair dishevelled and streaming behind her, 
she rushed forward and fell upon the coffin, while the 
vaulted roof of the church resounded with her shrieks. 

It was so with Gessia. She had nourished a foolish 
hope — one tliat the great world scorned, and ridiculed, 
and despised. But it was hers ; she had cherished it and 
believed in it. If it had lived, she would have been 
happy, for she was accustomed to its peculiarities. But it 


62 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


was dead ; and although her husband wouljd have had her 
believe that it was best so, she found it impossible to be 
resigned. 

When we see a creature slowly dying a death of tor- 
ture, which we are powerless to avert, we would gladly go 
away, to escape seeing its wrHhings and hearing its 
groans. For the memory of its contortions will visit us 
at night, invade our dreams, and its death-cries will sound 
often and fearfully in our ears. But perhaps if we stay 
and listen, we may learn. If it be true that sorrow and 
suffering are more often the result of ignorance than of 
intention, this dying creature may let fall words that will 
cause us to shun the path which led it to despair and 
death. 

When John awoke in the morning, Gessia was lying 
awake, looking straight ahead of her, still and pale. 
John feared that she was ‘‘ mad ’’ yet. This would never 
do ; they were to have fine times in life, and lots of pleas- 
ure ; and if Gessia kept on like this, all the happiness 
would be spoiled. lie put up his hand and pressed her 
white forehead. 

‘‘Mad at me yet ? ” he asked playfully. 

“ John,*’ she said quietly; “I dreamed lust night that I 
stood in a dark gallery which admitted of no escape, save 
in one direction ; that was at the end of the long gallery, 
and there was a deep, fresh-dug pit. There was just enough 
light in the gallery to show me that it was utterly barren 
and desolate.” 

“ Oh, Gessia! ” he said in a vexed tone as he gave her 
a little shake; “be sensible now. The past is the past, 
and we’d be foolish to let that little matter spoil our life. 
Now be cheerful ; I’m going to be, and I’ll look over all 
you said last night, and you said a good deal, too. Now 
cheer up. I’d like to have my breakfast as soon as possi- 
ble ; I want to go up the creek and get a hand to clear out 
the bottom pasture.” 

Upon arising, Gessia felt a new trouble ; her head ached, 
and she trembled with a nauseating sickness. She did not 
understand this; but in spite of it breakfast must be 
cocked, the rooms be swept, the milk must be skimmed, 
and the dusting must be done. How gleefully she had 
danced and sang through this routine yesterday ; but how 
heavy and wearisome it was now! When John came in 
from his feeding, and as he always did, took her up in 


A DAY DREAM AND A NIGHT DREAM. 63 

his arms and danced about the stove with her, she felt as 
if she could strike him. His arms were hateful to her ; 
when he placed her on her feet, she only groaned. 

“ What’s tlie matter ? ” he asked. 

“I’m sick. Let me alone.” John sat down and whistled. 
Strange, women couldn’t behave themselves ; but then 
even if she were unreasonable and peevish, he would be 
kind and indulgent. So he ate a hearty breakfast, praised 
the biscuits, and when the meal was over went away whist- 
ling. Before he went, however, he took occasion to joke 
his wife concerning the probable cause of her sickness, 
tliinking, perhaps, that this was a good way to lighten her 
spirits. 

Days and weeks dragged on. The meals were cooked 
and the household duties were performed in some mechani- 
cal way. Gessia called all her fortitude to her aid ; she 
tried to reason that other women had to bear worse; John 
said that many men committed such faults during marriage, 
and she might rest assured that he had no such intention. 
But this reasoning brought small comfort ; was it any worse 
to sin during marriage than it was to drag old sins into 
marriage ? John’s chief conversation now, was to tell her 
what brutes other men made of themselves, and how conti- 
nent he was by comparison. But it was only weariness 
to her ; it diminished her respect for other men, and gave 
her no more for her husband ; what was the moral differ- 
ence between him who had stolen one dollar and him who 
had stolen a hundred? why should the one upbraid the 
other ? She grew to hate the amusements she had formerly 
loved — the books that had once been dear, because they 
reminded her of happier times. She attended a ball in 
the neighborhood and stooped to coquetry with Ed. Hol- 
comb ; why should she not ? what was there to be so good 
for now ? John, however, was not pleased with the flirta- 
tion ; like most gentlemen who reserve a little license for 
themselves, he was very particular about his wife ; and in 
support of this watchful care, he enlivened the road home 
with a good scolding. Gessia, perhaps from feeling that 
she had nothing to lose, was quite independent. 

“ Why do you object to my talking a little too much to 
Ed. Holcomb ? ” she asked after John had finished his 
little oration. 

“ Because he’s a low-down, dog, and not fit for you to 
notice.” 


64 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


Is he any worse than the quartet of women you boasted 
of embracing ? ** 

“ Oh, well, I see you will be simpleton. You are bound 
to bring that up to everything I say. You think I’m an 
awful bad man ; but why don’t you stop and think how bad 
some women are. I’ve known some women with good 
kind husbands to play off on them — even run off with 
other men, and leave their homes and children.” 

“ Yes, and John, I never understood that till you told 
me what you did. I used to wonder why women would 
leave their homes and husbands for a life of shame, but 
now I understand. Their husbands, like mine, saw 
fit to boast to them of filthy crimes which they had com- 
mitted, and they very naturally thought they ought to 
follow such bright examples. I tell you, John, no man 
can complain if his wife follows the example he sets her. 
Your example has licensed me, and if I see fit to call in 
Ed. Holcomb, or the vilest tramp, and allow him to usurp 
your dearest rights, you have no right to say a word.” 

If you dared do such a thing — ” 

You need not fear ; for my own sake — not for yours, 
for you have forfeited all claims to my honor — but for my 
own sake, I will sink no deeper into shame than I now am. 
I Avill not ruin myself for any man’s sins.” 

You are perfectly foolish, Gessia, to talk about what 
I’ve done licensing you. If it had been done inside of mar- 
riage, you might talk.” 

“ Inside of marriage indeed ? How am I to judge of 
your future save by your past? And if I were impure, 
how much difference would it make to you whether I 
promised future continence as reparation for past crimes 
and deception ? ” 

Why do you say deception ? ” 

‘‘ Because you did deceive me ; I asked you what you 
thought of such men as the Nolan boys, and tried to get 
you to talk ; and you made me believe you were pure, and 
then changed the subject.” 

“And I did just right ; it was not a fit subject for you 
to talk to me on.” 

“ It was far fitter for you to tell me of your sins then, than 
after marriage, when opposition would be useless.” 

“ O, well, Gessia, it’s no use to keep harping. We’ll 
just make the matter worse. Let’s keep still if we can’t 
find something else to talk about.” 


A DAY DREAM AND A NIGHT DREAM. 


65 


You seemed glad enough to talk about it once. A 
subject like that is slow to die ; marriage is too delicate a 
relation to sustain the shock of crime and deceit. I am 
hopelessly wronged, still, like you, I can see no good to be 
found talking it over. I do not speak of it because my 
judgment bids me, but because the woe it causes volun- 
tarily speaks.” 

After this conversation there was silence between them 
upon the subject for some time. Gessia’s sickness increased, 
and her gloom became more enduring and settled. She 
knew the cause of her sickness now, but what consolation 
was that? what she had once longed for she now dreaded. 
John grew impatient at her lack of interest in things, and 
at her silence and gloom. He went around and laid the 
case before that smooth-spoken, successful man of the 
world, Ike Eansom. Ike had been the one to lead him 
into licentious ways, and to insist that a sensible woman 
would love more truly a man who had been in several 
scrapes with women. John remembered that he had never 
been very proud of his youthful license, and he had worried 
some in secret over this, for fear he might not be quite 
manly. Ike Ransom had said that no manly man would 
stand back from enjoying his rights. Of course he had 
kept his misgivings a profound secret, and had talked to 
his fiiends of the necessity of indulgence, quite as fluently 
as he had to Gessia. Now he determined to tell Ike that 
the system did not seem to be working to perfection, and 
get him to prescribe a remedy. He detailed his troubles 
in full. Ike smoked on in silence for a time', then snatched 
his pipe out of his mouth and vehemently exclaimed : 

“ Well, John, your wife is a Tartar, sure. Of course 
you can do as you please, but I tell you, if she was my 
wife she’d learn to keep her mouth shut on such subjects.” 

“ But Ike, she’s a good woman — all but that.” 

“ Can’t help it if she is,” said Ike warming up. She’s 
out of her place when she undertakes to meddle with a 
man’s rights. She’s fanatical, and if she belonged to me 
I’d keep her still.” 

What would you do, Ike ? I never thought of it be- 
fore, but somehow it seems as if everything that’s said 
brings it up, and when it isn’t being talked about, she’s 
going around looking like a corpse. I’d rather she’d talk, 
than look so.” 

John, you haven’t a particle of spunk where a woman 


63 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


is concerned. Now a woman’s just an overgrown child — 
has to be bossed just the same. Now if she was mj wife, 
I’d just tell her out and out that she’d got to behave her- 
self, or by the everlastin’, I’d make her wish she had. 
I’ve joined the church and I s’jDose I oughtn’t to swear, 
but by G — d, if there’s anything in this world that makes 
me want to cuss a blue streak, it’s to see a woman trying 
to meddle with what’s none of her business. A man is 
one thing and a woman is another, and if she isn’t made 
to know her place, there’s no telling what will become of 
her.” 

Of course Ike told Ida Jane, and of course Ida Jane told 
all the neighbors, that Gessia Solomon was worrying her life 
out because John used to run with bad women so much ; 
and thus the matter was infinitely helped along. It is al- 
ways an excellent idea for neighbors to be initiated into a 
family difficulty — the matter is then certain of being made 
the most of. 

John resolved to take Ike’s advice ; of course Ike knew; 
he was authority on such subjects. So one afternoon, after 
he had tried in vain to interest his wife in a conversation 
such as had been common during that brief fortnight of 
early wedded life, he flashed out : 

“ Gessia, if you don’t behave yourself. I’ll get to acting 
hateful too ! ” 

“What have I been doing?” she wailed. 

“ Why, you act just as hateful as you can ; you just go 
around here like a ghost, and don’t talk or try to make 
things pleasant at all.” 

“I can’t talk — for thinking.” 

“ I’ts because you are a simpleton. And I tell you that 
there’s been enough of this nonsense, and if you don’t be- 
have yourself, why. I’ll not try to behave myself.” 

Gessia sat and sobbed. Her husband might do dread- 
ful things. Was it not better after all to make the best of 
it ? Anything would be better than the life she was now 
leading. 

“ I want to know what you are going to do,” said 
John, impatient at her delay. 

“ Oh, I’ll try ! I’ll try ! ” she sobbed. 

“Well, I think it’s time. Now come here and sit on my 
knee, and kiss me, like you used to.” She went ; she 
dropped upon his knee and pressed her tear-wet face to 
his lips, while sobs shook her form. Tears came into 


A MEETING WITH HETTY ANN BALES. 


67 


John’s eyes also — ^tears of joy to think that after all she 
was going to be sensible. Presently her sobs ceased, and 
she sat silent in his arms. But if her husband could have 
seen the loathing in the conquered heart, he would have 
felt but little joy in his triumph. 


CHAPTER VII. 

A MEETING WITH HETTY ANN BALES. 

Gessia firmly resolved to submit ; of course there could 
be no happiness for her, but duty still remained ; and for 
that duty and its faithful performance, she would bravely 
struggle. So as the days wore on slie smiled, but her 
smiles were sadder than tears ; she laughed, but her laugh 
sometimes ended in a sob. She sang, Wt even John could 
hear the wail of despair which arose between the lines. 
He began to fear that Ike’s plan wouldn’t be a success so 
far as Gessia was concerned; Gessia evidently wasn’t the 
sensible woman that Ike had described. One even- 
ing, about a month after the introduction of Ike’s plan, 
John was trying as usual to bring back the old state of 
affairs, which he now remembered to have been very 
pleasant. But things did not seem to work well. Gessia 
laughed when he desired her to, but he did not like the 
choking noise in her throat which followed the laughter. 
He got out of patience, and favored her with the informa- 
tion that people did not get married to act hateful. 

‘‘ Then why did you act hateful ? ” she said as she be- 
gan to hide her face. 

Now take that handkerchief away from your face. I 
didn’t act hateful. It was right for you to know, and if 
you had any judgment you’d see it.” 

“ Tlien you ought to have told me before marriage ; but 
that you would never have done ; you knew well enough 
that I’d never marry you if you let me know.” 

“ Oh, yes, I suppose you would have been silly enough 
to refuse me; you are a smart woman about some things, 
Gessia, but on that one subject you are a perfect fanatic. 
If I had not married you, it’s as likely as not, being as 


68 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


hard to suit as you are, that you’d have been an old 
maid.” 

An old maid !” said Gessia springing up, I wish to 
God that I were an old maid ! I’d have self-respect, if 
nothing more. I would not then be polluted by the em- 
brace of a man who has assisted in the degradation of my 
sex. I’d teach music, I’d teach school, I’d work in a 
kitchen, I’d do anything to earn an honest living. I’d 
save my money, I’d study nature, I’d travel and see the 
world.” 

You’d do wonders. I thought you claimed it was a 
woman’s first duty to raise a family of fine children. You’re 
changing your mind.” 

‘‘Yes, I am changing. I did want children when I 
believed my husband worthy to father them. But what 
right have I to bring children into the world who are dis- 
graced before they are born ? Why should I wish for a 
son to turn some woman’s life to Hell, or for a daughter to 
suffer as I am suffering ? ” 

“ Jealous people always suffer.” 

“ I am not jealous. I tell you solemnly, that those 
women who sinned for bread are more tolerable to me, 
then you, who sinned only for lust. It is not jealousy ; it 
is moral horror. Why could you not have married, if a 
woman was necessary to you ? What excuse have you, if, 
as you tell me, you could have married any girl in this 
neighborhood? ” 

Of course Gessia was a point-blank fool ; still John was 
greatly surprised to see that she had so much argu- 
ment on her side ; it was not for the lack of argument 
though, he told himself, that his defence was weak. “ If 
I could talk like you, Gessia,” he said, “ I could defend 
myself better.” 

“If you had the eloquence of Demosthenes you could 
not make crime tolerable to me. You might, indeed, 
ornament your sentences with rhetoric and dress your 
themes with the fiowers of language ; but argument, you 
could not produce. There is not one jot of argument 
upon the side of any public wrong, or in favor of any 
outrage ; truth and justice and virtue in action, and liberty 
and equality, whether of race or sex, have all the argu- 
ment on their side ; and the believer in an unjust cause 
never knows its weakness until he tries to defend it.” 

‘‘I know one thing, though,” he said sulkily; “if I 


A MEETING WITH HETTY ANN BALES. 69 

had married any girl in this neighborhood, she wouldn’t 
have made so much fuss about such a little thing.” 

“ It may be as you say. I believe that most women 
have been so schooled to defeat, so driven to believe that 
submission to shame is the only door to marriage, that 
many of them would keep silence after hearing their hus- 
bands confess vileness. It is as natural for a woman to 
desire a husband as it is for a man to desire a wife. More 
than this, the world passes such harsh judgment upon the 
woman who does not marry, that, aside from her natural 
inclination, she is driven into marriage. The world makes 
her life outside of marriage so hard, that, as you say, 
many will submit in silence to the outrageous wrongs of 
our marital system. And when she has submitted, she 
will find a new trouble — her husband knowing that he 
would not give his hand to an impure companion, looks 
upon her as his inferior because she does so, and secretly de- 
spises her for her servility. I tell you, John, as I have a 
woman’s soul, it is impossible for a woman not to desire her 
husband’s purity ; and no amount of fortitude can steel 
her against suffering because of its loss, however well it 
may serve to hide that suffering from the general eye. 
Why is it natural for you to want to be first with me, and 
unnatural for me to want to be first with you ? O, a pure 
marriage would be a marriage indeed ! What need we 
care for the frowns of fortune or the reverses of fate, if we 
knew we owmed each other? But now, what is there in 
the future ? Crops will fail, business reverses will come, 
and neighbors will slander and quarrel ; there will be 
children born in suffering, and some of these will sicken 
and die, there will be dreary watches besides fading forms 
in the gloomy night ; and throughout all this, there will 
be no pure, unsullied love to cheer. Of all the human 
beings on earth, man can depend upon but one to be his 
friend through a lifetime of sorrow and trouble. That one 
is his wife ; and if she fail him, he stands alone. Creatures 
will suffer endless privation, sorrow, and pain for those 
whom they love ; but when the loved one has made a 
mockery of affection, the merest accident becomes a fearful 
calamity, and even intended pleasure turns to bitter- 
ness. Life, wreathed with all possible love and purity, 
would still be annoyed by the thousand vexations which 
the world offers ; but when the weight of disgrace is added, 


70 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


the burdens become too many and too heavy to be 
borne.” 

“ I see, Gessia, that you are determined to look on the 
dark side of things.” 

Is there any bright side to disgrace ? Think over 
what you have done ; picture to yourself the poor, shamed, 
painted, scorned wretches you have lowered ; think how, 
with all your splendid gifts, you have robbed yourself of 
the affection and trust of your dearest friend. Put your 
shame in your best language, and then tell me what you 
find to give me consolation, or you self-respect.” 

“Well, Gessia, if it is as bad as you say, it is I who 
ought to suffer, and not you.” 

“I must always be the great sufferer. I have been 
deceived into giving my hand where I would never have 
given it. I am linked to a man for whom I must always 
blush, and lodged in a home made hideous with the spectres 
of lost, sinking wretches. It is impossible that you should 
feel about this as I do. The conscience that has been 
blunted by contact with sin loses its ability to shrink at 
horror. Human bones can better sustain a fall from a 
precipice, than the human conscience can sustain a fall 
from virtue.” 

“ Well, we’re foolish to jangle all the time, and if we 
don’t quit it, we’ll always be miserable. Even if I have 
done a little wrong, I don’t see why I should be punished 
always for it.” 

“ If I had done your offense, my punishment would have 
ostracized me from society during life, and my grave would 
have been a nameless one. My name would have been 
spoken by men only to be coupled with foul jests, and 
respectable people would have turned aside in the street 
to keep their clothes from touching mine. And yet ” — 
she went on as she stretched out her hands — “ and yet 
every vile, cruel, heartless, drunken, besotted man we see 
loafing and indulging in obscene jokes upon the streets, 
has a place in society. Whenever he sees fit to wash him- 
self, and change his clothes, and announce that he has fin- 
ished sowing his wild oats, society is ready to open its 
arms to him ; and some woman who has fed on the per- 
nicious ideas of the day is ready to be his wife, rather than 
fail of being a wife at all. Oh, there is nothing for us but 
injustice, inequality and shame ! ” 

“ Oh, well, Gessia, you won’t see reason and you won’t 


A MEETING WITH HETTY ANN BALES. 


71 


see the difference between a man and a woman/^ snarled 
John, as he stalked off to bed. 

If a phrenologist had presumed to hunt for prominences 
upon John’s head he would probably have discovered a 
bump of amazing size upon the region of faith ; he believed 
that all things were bound to turn out well with him ; he 
was certain that so fine a fellow could not meet with dis- 
aster, Before he had committed his youthful indiscre- 
tions, he had doubted their justice and cleanliness ; but of 
course it would be all right — his luck was so excellent. 
When he married Gessia, with a full knowledge of her 
deep moral convictions, and held her in ignorance of his 
lapses until she was bound, he had felt some doubt about 
his right to do so ; but of course it would turn out all right. 
Even now, as he left the room after this talk, he was not 
discouraged — it would all come out right — things always 
came out right for him. Gessia was sick now ; when the 
little baby came she would get over her nonsense ; the baby 
would cheer them both, he would buy Gessia a new silk 
dress, and all would be one long era of happiness, love, and 
content. The earthquake was to gobble up some one 
else. 

As the young wife toiled away one bright June morning 
at her dishwashing, baking, and churning, the burden upon 
her soul seemed heavier than usual ; the work was far too 
heavy for her enfeebled hands and she did not want a girl 
in the house to read the misery in her every step and 
glance. There were John and two hired men to cook for, 
and all the five rooms of the house to keep neat and clean ; 
all the milk to skim, the cream to churn, and the mending 
to do. But it was not the work that made her so weary; 
‘‘ O, I could gladly bear it all ; the work and the sickness 
and all, if only he was worth suffering for ; but now there 
is nothing left but despair.” As she made this mental 
comment she heard a knock ; she was glad of it ; perhaps 
it was some one she could talk to, and forget for a time at 
least, her load of sorrow. It was old Hetty Ann Bales, 
whose husband was such a good-for-nothing brute, accord- 
ing to John’s story, who entered the door. Gessia brought 
forward the best rocker. 

“ Good mornin’. Miss Solomon,” said Hetty Ann, as 
soon as she could cease groaning from the heat. I saw 
you to meetin’ Sunday, lookin’ so pale and white like, 
that I thought I’d jest come over and bring ye a little 


72 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


mite of double tansy. It’ll be mighty good to make a 
mite of tea of and drink for headaches, and it won’t hurt 
ye a bit — it ain’t like single tansy.” 

“ Thank you, Mrs. Bales ; take this fan.” 

“Yes’m; thanke; you and John is fixed up mighty 
nice for keepin’ house ; lots better nor me and Josiah was 
when we started up.” 

“ But perhaps we are no happier than you were, Mrs. 
Bales ; hearts have more to do with making homes than 
houses and furniture do.” 

Well, I was happy for a while; that’s the truth ; but 
it didn’ last. Nothin’ lasts in this world but taxes and bad 
reputations and trouble.” A fire which had long been 
dormant hashed in the speaker’s dull gray eyes ; a sudden 
thought that there might be a similarity in their crosses 
arose in Gessia’s mind. To speak upon such a topic 
would be very unwise, but what was the use of wisdom 
now ? \Yhy need she protect the good name of a hus- 
band who unblushingly boasted his shame? She moved 
her chair nearer to the visitor’s, and said : 

“ Do you believe Mrs. Bales that every woman we see 
bears some heavy sorrow, which perhaps show's in a care- 
worn face, or which is hidden under a forced deceitful 
smile ? ” 

Why, I never ’lowed as you had any secret trouble ; 
seein’ as you’ve got things so nice around you, and such a 
good, kind husband, as every body spoke so well on.” 

We might bear with our tyrants if others were silent con- 
cerning them; we might even defend them if others 
maligned, because they are “our” tyrants; but when 
others praise them, w'e lose strength, discretion, self con- 
trol and will-power. We must expose them, let that ex- 
posure cost w'hat it will. Gessia’s judgment deserted her; 
in the depths of physical suffering, with the stings of 
shame, injustice, and tyranny piercing to her very soul, she 
buried her face in her hands and sobbed aloud. 

“ Law now, Miss Solomon, what be the matter ? any of 
the home folks sick, or wdiat is it?” 

“ Oh, nothing — only I’m a fool.” 

“ Law now, John ain’t mean to ye, is he ? ’* 

Gessia struggled valiantly for an instant; then let go 
the tight rein she had been holding upon her unruly 
tongue. 


A MEETING WITH HETTY ANN BALES. 73 

“ He’s a brute! A tyrant ! A perfect devil ! ” she sob- 
bed. 

“Well, well! Now! I wouldn’t a believed it. Well 
I ’low he didn’t do you like Josiah did me, anyhow. I 
used to think Josiah was all them things you said, but law, 
the neighbors all told me what a good, kind husband I’d 
got.” 

“ And how did he serve you ? ” 

“ AYell, I’ve kept my mouth shet so fur, and if you ain’t 
offended. Miss Solomon, I won’t give up now, I haint 
borne my troubles as well as some, but I’ve kinder worried 
along under ’em somehow. Troubles is like children — 
they’re easier to manage when they’re kept at home.” 

Gessia did not speak ; she only sobbed long and sorrow- 
fully. 

“ If there’s any way I can help you, Miss Solomon, let 
me know how, and I’ll do it gladly;” said Mrs. Bales as 
she drew her snuff-box out of her pocket. 

“ Oh, well ! What do you do with your troubles when 
they get so heavy you can’t possibly carry them ? ” 

“ W ell, it’s ’cordin’ to what they air. If you think it ain’t 
best to tell. Miss Solomon, don’t you do it; but if you 
think I can help you any, why, out with it. It ain’t best 
to tell troubles, I know, but then may be I can help you.” 

“You won’t tell any one?” 

“I’ve kept still about my own troubles nigh unto thirty 
years, and onless your trials is like mine. I’ll keep still yet. 
But if we’ve been served alike. I’ll tell you, and then arter 
that we’d both better keep still, for this is a powerful bad 
neighborhood to talk.” 

“ Well, Oh — Oh — it’s bad women, Mrs. Bales ! ” 

Mrs. Bales laid her snuff-box on the window-sill and 
raised her heavy hands above her head. “ You don’t 
mean to tell me,” she said, “ that he’s been tellin’ in 
your ears that he’s been runnin’ after them nasty women 
down at the dance-house in Milroy City ? ” 

“Not in Milroy City, Mrs. Bales; he takes great credit 
to himself that he never bothered them so near home. 
The ones he visited, he said, were away off from here.” 

“Well, I don’t see why he need take credit for not 
goin’ here, if he was goin’ to carry the news here, and 
stuff it down your throat. I don’t see how the place 
where a mean thing’s done, helps it out any. Well, well! 
The world do beat all. Now I never seed but one or two 


74 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


men that I had as much faith in that way, as I had in 
John ; why if you hadn’t told me that John told you him- 
self, I never would a believed it from anybody. But law, 
don’t distress yourself with cryin’; calm down if you’re 
goin’ to talk. He ain’t worth one of them tears. I’m 
sorry for such a pretty, bright critter ; but law, you ain’t 
the first. It’s a mighty old story.” 

And then with tears and sobs came Gessia’s recital ; she 
told it all — all the shame, the taunts, the threats, the hope- 
less wrangling and the fading, receding love. Her auditor 
sat quietly looking out of the door, her hands clasped on 
her knees and her face unmoved. 

“Oh, Mrs. Bales, I thought you’d be sorry forme,” 
wailed Gessia, wringing her tear-wet hands. 

“Sorry for ye.^ Ain’t I?” said the old woman with a 
long, heavy sigh. “ Ain’t I a living my bridehood over 
again in yours ? Josiah acted jest for the w'orld like you 
say. Taunted me for years about him runnin’ with other 
women, and ain’t done tauntin’ me yet, when he gits any 
time off from tollin’ smutty jokes down at the saloon.” 

“ Oh, how have you endured it? How have you lived so 
long? It’s killing 

“ Listen to me a spell. I never was as bright and purty 
as you, and never had so much lamin’; but I was counted 
onusual in the part of Tennessee I lived in. I’d read what 
books I could git hold of, and I thought, like you, that it 
was all wrong for a man to be histed up on a pole, and 
toted round, for doin’ the same thing that a woman gits 
kicked for. But most people laughed at me, and said I’d 
surely git ketched up with a onusual bad husband that 
way. But I didn’t believe ’em, and I went on till I fell 
in love with Josiah and married him. I ’low no woman 
ever had more faith in a man than I had in him, and I 
was powerful happy and ambitious to get along. I put in 
a big garden and set three hens on goose eggs, and com- 
menced to calkilate how soon we’d be able to buy a place. 
Josiah’s father and mine was both slaveholders in a small 
way, but they hadn’t any niggers to spare for us, only to 
let us have one to help a day or two once in a while. 
But I didn’t care. I was willin’ to work, and I ’low I 
was one of the happiest women that ever lived, up to the 
time we’d been married three weeks. And then one day 
Josiah came home and commenced to tell me about a girl 
in the neighborhood turnin’ out bad, and I tuck up for 


A MEETING WITH HETTY ANN BALES. 75 

her, and undertuck to say she wasn’t any worse than the 
men that run with her. Then he went on and defended 
the men, and told me that he’d been intimate with more 
than a dozen women before he’d ever seen me. Says I, 
‘ Josiah, you’re jest a foolin’ me.’ ‘No I ain’t,’ says he. 
Then I jest set down in the garden where I’d been hoein’ 
and commenced to cry. I told him that if it was so, that 
I didn’t want to hear it ; but he jest went on, and kept 
tellin’ me, and laughed at my cryin’, and said that when 
I got older I wouldn’t be sech a fool. Oh, I swear I’d a 
left him then and there, but I’d been dreadful sick for 
three mornin’s hand runnin’ and I was afraid I wasn’t 
fit to depend on myself and earn my own livin’. I knew 
it wa’n’t no use to go back to father, for he thought a 
grass-widder was worse ’n a snake or a runaway nigger. 
Don^t take it so hard dear ; you’re only one in a thousand.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, do all women have to endure such shame ? Is there 
no hope? Even the negro, when he tried to escape, found 
hands stretched out to guide and help him. But the wife 
who leaves a merciless tyrant is spurned on every hand. 
Society never will take the brand off of her name. I was 
just like you say — so glad, so happy, so ambitious. Oh, 
what shall I do?” 

“ Do like other women ; kinder forget.” 

“ Oh, I cannot ! I cannot ! Every day it comes upon 
me with greater force that my husband is soiled, and his 
name stained — that I am not the first — that he is not all 
mine — that he has made a mockery of the purest relations 
of life. And yet if he knew of the slightest speck on my 
good name, he would turn me out of his house at mid- 
night, though the wind were shrieking and the snow piling 
mountain high. He even lectures me for talking and 
dancing with other men, and says that I will get my name 
up as a flirt. Oh, tell me what I shall do ? ” 

“ Well, kinder quiet down, and do the best you can. I 
know I never did a bit of good after Josiah told me. 
After I knowed that, I jest let my garden go and didn’t 
half tend to my hens. My goslings all got drowned ’cause 
I was too slow getting ’em in out of a storm, and my gar- 
den went to rack, I jest set round the house, or gossipped 
with the neighbors, I tuck to makin’ my coffee a deal 
stronger, and then I got to dippin’ snuff, and smoking ter- 
backer. I know that Josiah has seed the difference many 
a time, and I don’t care. He had a big fuss with a neigh- 


76 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


bor soon after, and the neighbor put up two niggers to beat 
him. Josiah came pretty near gittin’ killed up, and was 
jest able to drag himself home. I dressed his wounds 
and put salve on ’em, but I didn’t try to put no salve on 
his feelin’s. I didn’t kiss him and go on over him, and he 
didn’t like that. ‘ Hetty Ann,’ he says, ‘ you ain’t sorry 
for me.’ ‘Well,’ says I, ‘Josiah, you’ve enlisted too 
many women in your cause to git much sympathy from 
any one of ’em ; go to the first one you had ; she’s yer 
proper wife, and the proper one to sympathize with you.’ 
Says he, ‘You’re selfish, Hetty Ann, you don’t care for 
nobody but yourself.’ Says I, ‘ Maybe I be selfish, 
Josiah, but then I never was selfish enough to appropriate 
no ten or a dozen men to myself. I never w^anted but 
one.’ Well, we kinder got along somehow. My baby 
came ; it was a fine boy, but I didn’t take much comfort 
in it ; then I had a little gall ; and before she was a year 
old they both tuck the fever and died. Well, they kept 
on cornin’ till I’d had six, and they kept on dyin’ of one 
thing and another, till finally they was all dead. And I 
didn’t care much. I cried over ’em ’cause they looked so 
white and sweet and cold, but then I jest thought that if 
they died that the galls would never suffer like I was suf- 
ferin’, and the boys wouldn’t inflict sech sufferin’ as Josiah 
had on me. I tell you it’s a mighty comfort to tliink of 
’em in their six little graves back there in Tennessee. I 
often think how the grass and moss that’s growin’ over 
’em shuts ’em out from the sin and trouble of this world. 
And what you said. Miss Solomon, about there bein’ people 
as would help the slaves oflf, but none to rescue the women, 
has got a mighty sight of truth in it. Mind you, I ain’t 
sayin’ slavery was wrong, nor I ain’t sayin’ it was right — 
it’s gone, and I don’t know as I’m particlar sorry, though 
I was raised to be used to it. But even sayin’ it was wrong, 
as you folks seem to think, why even then I say, the treat- 
ment the women gits is worse. Take women that’s read 
and studied and filled their minds and hearts with good, 
and when they marry they learn things that makes ’em all 
heart-sick. Then them as ain’t married has got to be on 
the lookout all the time to keep from bein’ insulted, or 
slandered, or seduced by them as calls theirselves our pro- 
tectors. And when a woman has once actually gone 
wrong, she’s worse off nor any nigger slave ever was. I’d 
like to have some one point out to me where’s the Canada 


A MEETING WITH HETTY ANN BALES, 77 

she can go to and throw off her shackles of shame ; and 
even if the Canada was found, I’d like to see the under- 
ground railroad that’s to carry her to it. Law, if all men 
was like my brother Dave, that was killed at Kenesaw, 
there’d be some chance for the women. Says I to Dave 
once, for I alters know’d Dave was as straight as a string, 
says I, ‘ Dave, you ain’t the one to be runnin’ to the nig- 
ger quarters to stay all nighty, like lots of the boys round 
here, be you? ’ and says he, ‘No, Hetty Ann, nor to any 
bad white woman’s, neither,’ says he ; ‘ I’m goin’ to give 
the woman I marry a name to be proud of.’ Oh, Dave 
was a grand one ; there wan’t many such in Tennessee, 
nor no where else, I reckon. I remember when he was 
goin’ to enlist he come to me, and, says he, ‘ Hetty Ann, 
I ’low the Lord holds the fortunes of war in his hands, 
and that he’ll turn this ’un to suit hisself ; but as long as 
the Yankees is cornin’ this way, I feel it’s my duty to 
oppose ’em with my feeble strength.’ So he ’listed, and I 
got letters from him all along till jest after Kenesaw, 
when I got the last one. It was stained with blood, and 
Dave wrote it — jest a few lines — while he was bleedin’ to 
death from a gunshot wound in his lung. In that letter 
he give me his good-bye, and told me if ever I seen two 
Yankee doctors, whose names he give me, for me to be 
kind to ’em, for they’d been kind to him, and tried to save 
him. I hated the Yankees then, but if I’d seen them two 
doctors, or any one else that had done for Dave, I could 
a died for ’em. Oh, when I got that letter, I jest about 
give up ; and wicked as it was, I couldn’t help askin’ my 
heart why the Yankee bullets hadn’t found Josiah instead 
of my Dave. I tell you, Miss Solomon, if the sin of 
abusin’ w^omen was all on the shoulders of we Southerners 
there’d be mighty apt to be somethin’ done. You Yan- 
kees would be up in arms in no time, a marchin’ down 
onto us, a-layin’ waste our fields, burnin’ our homes, and 
at the point of the bayonet, forcin’ us to give up our sin. 
Our country ’ud be full of Blue Coats, jest as it was in 
abolition time, ar-wavin’ their caps and singin’ ‘ Glory hal- 
lelujah ’ and ‘ God is marchin’ on.’ The Mississippi ’ud 
be full of gunboats, and our fields ’ud be covered with 
bones, and every busted winder in Tennessee ’ud be 
stuffed full of blue clothes stripped off of dead Yankees ; and 
what wasn’t killed would be all ready to die for their 
cause, a^holdin’ up their proud heads, and spreadin’ out 


78 


THE PATE OF A POOL. 


their broad shoulders, and declarin’ that they was fightin* 
the battles of the Lord. Law, its jest that much easier 
for people to see other folk’s sins than ’tis for ’em to see 
their own, 

“And then, if you Yankees was the only guilty ones, I 
’low we’d git excited at the way our neighbors was doin’. 
We’d raise and arm I ’low as quick as we did before, and 
march North if we knowed we’d meet with twenty Gettys- 
burgs on the road. We fought right peart before, and I 
’low we would agin if we thought we orter. We’d fight 
till we’d free your slaves — your women slaves — and make 
you acknowledge that them as had been your victims 
should go free. You ’uns say you did a glorious work 
when you freed our slaves — maybe you did — as I said 
before, I ain’t arguin’ that ; but I ’low that if we could 
march North and set your low women free from their 
shame, and your married ones free from knowin’ that they 
was bein’ loved and caressed second to a gang of strum- 
pets that their husbands had before they married ’em, 
I ’low we’d do a gloriouser. But, law, it’s no use 
hopin’ nor talkin’ about that; one side’s jest as deep in 
the mud as ’tother one is in the mire ; and I ’low we 
Southerners ’ll hold on to our yaller girls and our sins as 
tight as we did to our slaves ; and that you Yankees ’ll 
shout jest as loud for your fornication as ever you did for 
abolition or your country. Well, Josiah didn’t do no good 
back there, so he up and got ready to come out here ; I 
told him ’fore he started that I wa’n’t goin’ to work my 
eyes out to git a home started in a new country — that I 
didn’t particlar care whether I had a home or not, so I got 
a bite to eat. He called me a lazy old b — and I jest 
told him that I couldn’t well help bein’ one of them 
things, after livin’ with a dog so long; and then he got 
mad and cussed me awful. But I didn’t care ; a woman’s 
got to say her mind once in a while or she’ll go plum 
crazy. Well, things kept on that way. Josiah didn’t do 
no good, and I didn’t try to do nothin’ but slick up the 
house a bit, and cook a bite to eat. And I don’t ’low to. 
Josiah says I’ll die in the poor-house, and I don’t partic- 
lar care if I do.” 

“Oh — oh — oh!” wailed Gessia; “is there no help? 
Must we all give up, must we lose our enthusiasm, our 
ambition, and our hope, and drag our weary bodies along 


A MEETING WITH HETTY ANN BALES. 79 

to a Cheerless death ? Do women always submit as you 
have done ? ** 

“Well, it is hard, but then after once they’re tied I ’low 
it’s the best they can do ; a grass- widder is nobody, no 
matter if she’s a saint ; and if a woman undertakes to pay 
a man off, she allers gits the worst of it, because society’s 
agin her. She can’t take a lover, nor yet kill herself with- 
out flyin’ in the face of the commandments, and losin’ her 
hope of heaven. And that’s one thing I’m goin’ to hold 
on ter; I’ve allers been onhappy and wretched in this 
world, and I don’t ’low give up my chance of happiness 
in another one.” 

“ I have ceased to believe in either heaven or the jus- 
tice of God,” said Gessia, as she bowed her head in deep 
despair. “ I know that my aims were once high, and my 
motives pure, but now without any assistance on my part, 
save accepting in marriage the man I loved, I find myself 
in a covenant with sin, and the destined mother of a child 
whose father has outraged life’s purest ties. What can I 
expect of such a child ? What chance will there be for it 
to be self-respecting, clean, and decent?” 

“Well, I can’t give yer much comfort. Miss Solomon, 
only this : hold on to the Lord, mebbe he won’t disap- 
point us. If there’s any hope at all here, it is in the 
young men — we women can’t do nothin’, ’cept jest to be 
careful in marryin’, and stay old maids if we can’t marry 
decently ; but young men — at least some of ’em — like to be 
advancin’. Now I’ve allers had an idea that a man that 
ain’t better nor his father, or a woman that ain’t better nor 
her mother, don’t reflect much credit on their bringing- 
up. I don’t see that they’re anything but failures ; for if 
people didn’t improve over their parents they’d never been 
out of fig-leaves yet. Well, here’s a chance for young 
men to start in and do something noble. I don’t believe 
that American men is tyrants by nature, and I believe 
once git them waked up to the wrong they’re doin’, that 
nearly all of ’em would go to fightin’ it. And when I git 
to thinkin’ about that war I was talkin’ about, and how 
brave them men was — and I can’t see as one side was a 
whit behind the other for grit — when I think of them men 
marchin’ up to be shot down, and torn with shells and 
gashed with swords — when I think of ’em wadin’ creeks 
and swamps and dyin’ in reekin’ prisons, all for what they 
thought was right, I kinder think there’s reason to hope. 


80 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


I believe once git ’em thoroughly awake on this subject, 
and they’ll all jine hands and march agin it, and fight to 
stamp it out harder than ever they fit for or agin’ slavery. 
At least I hope it’ll be so. If people’ll ’ud make it a rule 
for every generation of critters to wipe out one sin, and 
stick right to that rule, we’d git so we could hold our 
heads up after awhile. 

“ I remember once cornin’ onto a wounded Yankee jest 
on the edge of the field at Lookout Mountain ; he was jest a 
boy, and he looked for the world like Dave ; he w^as bleedin’ 
to death and I couldn’t help kinder doin’ what I could for 
him, even if he was a Yankee ; but I asked him what he 
was down there for, a despoilin’ our homes, and says he : 

‘ Ah, madam, you’re a noble woman to do wLat your’e 
doin’ for me, and the Lord’ll bless you for it; but then 
you’re hoi din’ my fellow man in bondage, and if I had a 
thousand lives, I’d give ’em all up jest as cheerfully as I’m 
givin’ up this one, to set him free.’ And then I says, 

< But nobody’ll know it ; you’re off here by yerself, and 
the chances is that you’ll never be found by yer friends.’ 
But says he, ‘ What is a nameless grave, or no grave at 
all, to dishonor ? I’d be willin’ to rot here unknown to 
any livin’ critter, if only my fellow man gits his freedom 
for it.’ Then I broke down, and agreed to write to his 
folks, and I’ve often hoped since that him and Dave had 
met and clasped hands in heaven. When I think of sech 
men as that, I kinder believe that all they need is proper 
raisin’ and a good wakin’ up. 

“Then I’ve often thought that if a man could jest know 
what a woman has to suffer, that he’d have more mercy 
for her. Now you take a nice, smart, sensible gal that is 
goin’ to marry the man she loves, and I ’low she never is 
as happy as she is when she’s dressin’ for her w^eddin’. 
She feels that she’s gone to enter a new life, -where she’ll 
have nothin’ but love and happiness and good treatment as 
long as she lives. But in about a month she’s gen’rly 
undeceived. By that time, she’s goin’ round with her 
head feelin’ as big as a barrel, and with her face as white 
as a sheet ; she’s thro-wdn’ up her vittles, and has got a nasty 
mean taste in her mouth, that no one as ain’t felt it, can 
even imagine about. More’n this, she gen’rly knows by this 
time that her husband’s liad more unmarried wives than ever 
she’s had beaus, and this fact don’t tend to make her vit- 
tles set no stidier on her stomach. And yet she stays on, 


A MEETING WITH HETTY ANN BALES. 81 

because she knows she has ter. She thinks all other women 
have to put up with the same, so she jest quiets down, and 
lets on she don’t care, and jines a church, and puts the 
faith in God that she once had in her husband. Slie goes 
on havin’ children and doin’ for ’em, and washin’ their 
dirty clothes ; and finally she dies, and the doctor calls 
what she died of by some big name, when it ain’t anything 
but disgust and a broken heart. As far as havin’ chil- 
dren and doin’ for ’em is concerned, I never minded that, 
if it only hadn’t been for them other women. It’s a 
woman’s duty to have children — its what natur meant her 
for — but I think she has enough, to go through with 
while she’s about it, without knowin’ that she’s raisin’ 
’em up for a man that’s disgraced ’em all ’fore they was 
born. 

‘‘ The churches might do somethin’, if only they’d fight 
this thing right ; but law, they’d rather fight one another, 
than to fight sin. I’m holdin’ on to the Lord, but I don’t 
pretend to hold on to the churches ; if I did, I’d wait till 
they set to work at this matter. There’s the Baptists 
givin’ the Methodists Hail Columbia, and the Presb;^eri- 
ans sailin’ into the Campbellites, and all of ’em unitin’ to 
blow up the Catholics ; and the Catholics, while they won’t 
put a reformed woman as high as a reformed man, still 
they do more for bad women than any other church does 
— not sayin’ that they do quite as much as they might. 
Then all tlie Christian churches club together to blow up the 
Mormons ; and while I’m no Mormon, and don’t believe in 
polygamy, still I’ve got this to say — that polygamy is a 
long ways better than prostitution ; if a man has got to 
have ten or a dozen wives, let him marry ’em, and recog- 
nize ’em as his wives afore the law. Then the churches 
and the societies, and even the people, will find some loop- 
hole of escape for the men, but they can’t find one for the 
women. The Baptists and Presbyterians consider that 
the men are foreordained to sin, so they look over it ; the 
Methodists and Campbellites are so forgivin’ that they 
soon forget about it; the Universalists are so good-hearted 
that they’ll forgive the men anything ; the Catholics will 
excuse the men if they confess and express penitence ; 
and the infidels are so liberal-minded that they think it a 
pity to bother about it. But neither the foreordination 
of the Baptists and Presbyterians, nor the forgiveness of 
the Methodists and Campbellites and Universalists, nor 


82 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


the confession of the Catholics, nor the liberality of the 
infidels, don’t excuse the women. Every body seems to 
think it’s his duty to give the women a kick, and he’ll 
neglect any other duty to attend to that one. 

“Says Josiah to me once, ‘Hetty Ann, you haven’t any 
business with so much sensitiveness ; it jest make you suf- 
fer.’ But says I, ‘ Yes, and people haven’t any business 
with nerves to ache when their flesh is cut or struck or 
burned ; and pussy-cat hasn’t any business with a tail to 
be stepped on and hurt ; but then the smartin’ of the 
nerves may warn us when our bodies are in danger, and 
when a pussy-cat’s tail gits stepped on, it may warn her 
that her body’s in danger ; and when some one runs agin’ 
my moral sensitiveness, it may warn me that my heart 
and soul’s in danger. But it’s wrong for people to 
hurt my nerves, jest ’cause natur’ give ’em to me, and it’s 
wrong to mash a pussy-cat’s tail jest ’cause she happens 
to have one ; and it’s wrong for you, Josiah Bales, to tramp 
on my moral sensitiveness, jest ’cause natur’ give me a moral 
sensitiveness.’ And now I must go. Miss Solomon. I’ve 
got to git a hot dinner, or Josiah ’ll have another spell. 
Good-day. Cheer up, now, and carry yer troubles and 
don’t let them carry you.” 


CHAPTER YIII. 

THE FORTUNES OF NANNIE ALLEN. 

It will be remembered that Nannie Allen disappeared 
from the vicinity of Milroy City on the evening of Frank 
Hatton’s wedding. Her ideas as she rode along in the hand- 
somely decorated car were in a state of some confusion, but 
she distinctly knew two things : first, that she had left the 
old life behind for ever ; and second, that she still wanted 
to live. She had often rode on the cars before, going from 
one vile town to another, to continue a life of shame, when 
she would have welcomed a railroad accident, even if 
broken timbers had held her down, while fierce flames 
slowly sucked her breath away. But now that she was 


THE FORTUNES OP NANNIE ALLEN. 83 

going to something better, she began to think how awful 
death would be. Hope was born, and Nannie sweetly wel- 
comed the stranger. 

Arriving at a small mining town in Nevada, she alighted 
from the cars, wondering within herself what she was to 
do. Her disguise sat uneasily upon her ; she felt as if 
every one must know her secret. It would never do to 
venture changing her dress in a hotel — she would cer- 
tainly be detected. She pulled her hat well down over 
her eyes and grasping her little bundle tightly, hurried 
away from the group of loungers about the depot, and 
started toward the foot-hills. She soon found a secluded 
spot — a quiet gulch — where she put on her feminine 
apparel, and then sitting down upon a rock, she took out 
needle and thread and re-trimmed her hat. She threw lier 
discarded clothing into a deserted prospect-hole ; and now, 
a pretty young woman without any baggage, she re-en- 
tered the town, keeping close to the foot-hills until she 
could enter a street. Kitchen help is always in demand in 
a mining town — she would hunt employment in that line. 
She walked quietly along until she reached a large, 
rough-looking house, with a sign in front of it, labelled, 

Hording and Logeing.” 

She walked around to the kitchen-door, and inquired of 
a buxom woman who was baking pies, if any help was 
needed. 

“Yes,” said the woman, “I do need help powerful 
bad, but I ain’t a goin’ to say that I think you’d be 
much help. You look about done out now.” 

“I am very tired; I have been travelling; but I am 
able and willing to work.” 

“ Got any recommends ? ” 

“No ma’am ; but if you’ll try me for a few days, I’ll do 
my best to make you satisfied.” 

“ Where’s your baggage ? ” 

“ Why — I have none.” 

“ How’s that ? ” 

“ Why,” said Nan, with hanging head, “ I was stay- 
ing with a woman. I found out that she wasn’t a good 
woman to be with, so I ran off and left everything — I was 
so anxious to get away.” 

“ Was she mean to you ? ” 

“ Sometimes, But please don’t make me talk about it. 


84 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


She was a dreadful woman, and would have only done me 
harm if Pd stayed.’^ 

“ Are you a good girl yourself? ” asked the woman, eye- 
ing her keenly. 

If I was not, do you think I’d be hunting work?” 
faltered Nan, as she burst into a fit of weeping. The 
woman leaned over her row of dainty pies and studied the 
sobbing girl. She had world-knowledge, and could read 
the lines of shame and dissipation in the face. She was 
almost certain that the girl was bad ; but was it the fact 
that she herself had known hardship and hunger that 
softened her ? Even if the girl was bad, she might want 
to do better ; her heart softened and her face relaxed. 

“Well I reckon you wouldn’t,” she said. “What’s 
your name ? ” 

“ Kate Wilson.” 

“Well, Kate, jest take off that nice worsted dress, and 
put on that blue caliker of mine, and git to work at the 
dinner dishes. I haven’t had time to wash ’em yet. My 
girl flared up and left this mornin’ ’cause I wanted her to 
rense the glasses, and I’m most driv to death. My name’s 
Hester Bunyan ; I’m the wife of Pete Bunyan, the chief 
lumberer down at the mine. I ain’t hard to git along 
with, if anybody’ll try to earn their pay. This here is 
the washin’ rag, and that, a hangin’ there, is the wipin’ 
towel.” 

Nan’s head swam ; she could indeed hardly believe that 
employment was so quickly found, and she was sufficiently 
world-wise to know that the case was an exceptional one. 
She almost flew into the “ caliker ” dress and soon the 
dishes were all washed, the glassware shone like dia- 
monds, and soon the table was invitingly set for supper. 

“ What wages do ye expect ? ” asked Mrs. Bunyan, as 
Nan was cutting potato chips. “ I give the last girl five 
dollars and board, but law, she wa’n’t worth five cents and 
a kick.” 

“ Pay me whatever I can earn,” said Nan. “ Of course 
I’d like to do as well as I can.’' 

“Well, we’ll call it five dollars and board, as long as 
you don’t shirk. That’s goin’ wages, and I don’t mind 
payin’ it as long as I git good work.” 

Nan was quiet, industrious, and painstaking to such a 
degree, that Mrs. Bunyan volubly boasted to her neigh- 
bors of the paragon she had obtained. She was so well 


THE FORTUNES OF NANNIE AlLEN. 85 

pleased with Nan and so busy with her many boarding- 
house duties, that she eventually forgot her suspicions con- 
cerning the girl, and accepted in good faith the harmless 
little fiction which the latter recited to her. Nan wore the 
plainest clothes, saved all the money not absolutely neces- 
sary to be expended, and in the course of two years had 
purchased a few cheap lots on the outskirts of the town. 
About this time Pete Bunyan came to her and said : 

“ Hester and me would powerful hate to lose you, Kate, 
but youVe been sech a good girl that we feel you ought to 
do better. I know a man thatfil take yer lots at a good 
figger to speculate on ; and that’ll give you some ready 
money that’ll help you in a little scheme that we’ve been 
talkin’ over, if you’re a mind to try it. There’s a power- 
ful fine piece of pasture land out on Mule Crick. It’s got 
a mighty good flowin’ spring on it, that’ll irrigate about 
ten acres of land that lays under it, and then you could 
git all the rest of the hundred and sixty in pasture land, 
and it’s the best feed on the crick ; it would keep a sight 
of stock. Now whoever gits that is agoin’ to do well. 
Jake Brown settled on it; but he’s got no enterprise, and 
he’s throwed it up, and if you want it, now’s yer chance. 
There’s a cabin on it, and you could settle down there, git 
you some stock, and let ’em grow into money, and do 
well.” 

Nan was surprised. But I can’t go alone, can I ? ” 
she asked. 

“ Yes, you can. Jest git a big watch-dog and a good 
six-shooter and you’re all right. I’ve knowed several 
women settle down that way, and do well.” 

“ Well, thank you, Mr. Bunyan, I believe I’ll try it.” 

So that is how Nan came to occupy a cabin on Mule 
Creek. She sold her town lots, bought some good cows, 
a saddle and pony, and some books, and a little cheap 
furniture. She paid for her daily necessaries with the ex- 
cellent butter which she made, and which she carried to 
Hester’s boarding house in a wooden pail. By her econ- 
omy, she was even able to lay by small sums. She had 
settled on her ranch in April, and between that time and 
the following July she had ample time to make the acquaint- 
ance of her only neighbor, Mr. Tom Batts. Tom’s ranch 
occupied the creek bottoms for a distance of half a mile, 
up and down, and spread far into the surrounding coun- 
try on either side. It adjoined Kate’s little quarter sec- 


S6 


FATE OF A Foot. 


tion on the east. Tom was a rich man ; his sleek horses 
were numbered by the dozens, and his long-horned wild 
cattle, branded with the circle bar, were counted by the 
hundreds — almost by the thousands. But of his stock 
and of his broad acres, he was not so proud as of the blue 
coat and brass buttons which he always wore, and of the 
hat which bore the inscription, G. A. R.” across the 
front. Tom was one of the youngest members of Uncle 
Sam’s family party in the trouble of ’61-’65, and he was 
very proud of his right to wear the insignia of the noble 
band of veterans. He had rather tell over the scenes of 
Fort Donelson than to eat a turkey dinner, and preferred 
to read a wise view on the surrender at Appomattox to re- 
ceiving all manner of encomiums upon his fat stock. He 
had become acquainted with Nan, soon after her settle- 
ment upon her ranch ; he was very well pleased with her ; 
he liked to go over in the pleasant afternoons and tell her 
all the intricate points about the capture of Fort Donel- 
son ; there were so few people who understood them prop- 
erly, and Nan seemed not only to understand them all, 
but her terror at his vivid portrayal of the shriek of shells 
and the dull roar of artillery, was very fine. Her pink 
cheeks positively paled when he told how the cannon balls 
had hissed about him — he knew, for he had watched — 
wonder if it was because — ? 

One July evening he sat on a chair just in front of 
Nan’s cabin with a right new blue coat buttoned across 
his breast. Nan sat in her door; she was pleasant to look 
upon ; she had grown plump and her face was full and 
rosy. The haggard, wearied look was gone, and she wore 
a sweet, youthful expression. The conference had evi- 
dently been long and interesting, since Tom was just fin- 
ishing the effigy of a man which he had been constructing 
from a pine stick ; the carving was well done and had prob- 
ably taken some two hours’ work. 

“ Kate,” said Tom, as he made a dangerous gash in the 
helpless effigy, “ I’ve been a thinking that the best of us 
are not always as wise as we might be.” 

“ Oh, I’ve often thought that, Mr. Batts.” 

‘‘Now,” he went on, as he cut the effigy in two very 
unequal parts, “ here I am a living on my ranche all 
alone — all alone, with no company but my dog.” He 
seemed to expect an answer; but Nan only turned very 
red and pulled her dog by the ear. “ Now I can’t help 


1'HE FORTUNES OP NANNIE ALLEN. 


87 


thinking,” he went on, “ that we might as well quit liv- 
ing alone — ^you and me — you’re all alone too — we might 
just as well go to town some day and see a preacher.” 

Nan turned white ; she had been lonely, and she had 
learned to hail with joy tliis man’s presence. He had now 
sprung a question which would force her to tell the truth, 
and most likely drive him away. But it must be done. 
She would not deceive him. But as the horrible past 
came up she sickened — she wished she had died years ago; 
so before her resolution should have time to weaken, she 
sobbed out : 

“I have something to tell you, Mr. Batts, and I believe 
I can trust you. I ask you to give me your word, that 
what I tell you shall never pass to any living soul.” 

“I’ll do that, Kate. But if it’s about you being a little 
behind in your payments on the cows — 

“ It isn’t that — the cows are all paid for. It’s something 
else. You have asked me to marry you, and I’ve got to 
tell you that I’m not fit to. I won’t be so mean as to de- 
ceive you. I — used — to — be — bad. I was engaged to marry 
a man, and he took advantage of the fact, and threatened 
me that he’d give me a bad name if I didn’t give up. I 
was foolish and gave up, and then he left me and talked 
mean about me. The folks wouldn’t let me stay at home 
and I couldn’t work then, for I wasn’t able. There was a 
little baby, and it died. No one would have anything 
to do with me, so I had to go to a bad house to live. I 
hated the life, and the being looked down on so, that 
finally I made up my mind that I’d run off and leave it 
all, even if I starved. So I came here, and I’ve behaved 
myself ever since I’ve been here, and I always intend to, 
no matter how much trouble I have. My real name is 
Nancy Catharine Allen, but I took my mother’s name of 
Wilson when I came here. That’s all,” she said ; and 
then she rocked to and fro in the door and sobbed aloud. 

Perhaps in all that terrible four years era of sabre-clash- 
ing, shot, shell, prison, blood, and death, Tom Batts had 
never looked so ghastly. He arose to his feet and abso- 
lutely trembled as he looked upon the woman before him. 
Then, as if words were idle to a man in his situation, he 
gave a heavy groan and walked away in the direction of 
his ranche. 

Nan saw him going, butshe only sobbed on. It was what 
she had expecte£ She buried her face in her hands for the 


88 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


first fit of weeping she had had since she left Sue Brown’s 
house. It did her good. After a half hour’s indulgence 
of her grief, she arose, took her pail, and went out to milk 
her cows. They loved her, poor creatures, in spite of her 
foulness — how lovingly they looked at her, as they com- 
placently chewed their cuds. Her saddle-horse galloped 
up from the pasture, put his head over the cow lot fence, 
and nickered for his customary lump of sugar. There was 
something to live for after all. Men were ungenerous, 
selfish, and unforgiving, and in future she would trust only 
the friendship of brutes, her faithful dog, her horse, and her 
cows. But the slight was a deep one — he had been such 
good company, and he had always been so kind, and now 
he would never come again and she would be so lonely. 
Still she did not regret telling him ; she would deceive no 
one who ought to know. But Oh, the sting of being left 
like that! She sobbed herself to sleep. She arose in 
the morning with a dull pain in her head, but the delicious 
breeze which blew upon her as she was milking her cows 
refreshed and cheered her. She began the preparation of 
her breakfast with a better heart, but before she had quite 
finished it, there came a knock at the door. It was opened 
by Tom Batts. 

‘‘ EAte,” he said, without waiting to say good-moming, ‘‘ I 
made a durn fool of myself last night, and I’ve come over 
to ask your pardon. There wasn’t in all the ranks at 
Donelson as dumed sneaking a coward as I made of myself 
last night. May I come in ? ” 

“ Yes ; come in. Take the rocker.” 

‘‘Kate,” he went on; “You’re a durn sight honester 
than I’d have been. I’ve been thinking all night, and I 
hope it’s done me good. I’ve been just as bad as ever 
you’ve been, and maybe worse, and I intended to marry 
you and not say a word about it. I know I don’t deserve 
you, after the way I acted, but if you’ll look over my 
cussedness and marry me, I’ll try to be good to you. 
What do you say ? ” 

“Oh! Oh!” 

“ Well, Kate, if you won’t have me. I’ll go back sorry 
enough.” 

“ Won’t you — eat some breakfast, Tom?” 

“ Well, I don’t care if I do, Kate. I was so anxious to 
get over here that I didn’t stop to get a single bite. So 
then you’re willing, Kate? ” 


THE FORTUNES OP NANNIE ALLEN. 


89 


Yes, Tom, I’m willing and I’ll do my best for you, and 
I hope and believe we’ll be happy. And now I must 
make a little more coffee.” The tears ran down her face 
as she took up the mill, and they kept up their flow until 
she announced breakfast. The two did ample justice to 
the sweet, light bread and butter, bacon, coffee, and eggs. 
As they rose from the table, Tom said : “Now Kate, just 
let your dishes go. I’ve got some business in town to-day ; 
my horse is tied to the fence and I’ll saddle your horse 
while you get ready. If it’ll suit you to get married to- 
day, it’ll suit me. What do you say ? ” 

Kate, or Nan, was suited and the two were soon gallop- 
ing toward town. They were married in Hester Bunyan’s 
parlor. As they rode back, Tom said: 

“Now Kate, you’ve defended yourself, for your sins, and 
now I feel as if I wanted to say a few words in my be- 
half. I can’t say that any woman forced me to do wrong 
by a batch of lies and threats ; but still my surroundings 
and teachings were such that I feel I’m not altogether to 
blame. Boys have very strong imaginations, and while I 
know that I ought not to speak ill of my father and 
mother, still I feel that they failed in their duty to me in 
several respects. They had certainly forgotten how easily 
a child’s mind is impressed and directed by what it sees 
and hears, and they joked in my presence about things 
which they had better left unmentioned. Then mother 
never seemed to care for me, only to give me plenty to 
eat and wear, and humor me a good deal, when I needed 
punishment more. She never read to me, nor reasoned 
with me, nor tried to convince me that other people had 
the same natural rights that I had. She wouldn’t play 
with me, nor try to entertain me ; she always seemed to 
be so much older than I was, and there was no sympathy 
between us. She was something of a gossip, and when 
she had company, as she nearly always had, she’d send me 
out of doors so she and they could talk. Well, I soon got 
to know why I was sent out. I got to listening at doors 
and windows, and wherever I could catch a word, for there 
was nearly always a dirty story going on inside the house. 
Of course they put the bulk of the blame on the women, 
and made out that sin was quite the proper thing for the 
men ; and I tell you, Kate, the worst thing that I see 
about all this disgusting business, is the tame way that 
women give up to bad husbands. It goes farther to show 


90 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


that they’re completely cowed than anything else I know 
of. I tell you, Kate, when a class has been so mistreated 
as to become as servile as a majority of the women are, 
it’s high time to look out for the public welfare. Well, 
the way mother did was bad, but it wasn’t the only bad 
thing. Father and the hired men talked, and encouraged 
me to talk, about things that we all ought to have been 
ashamed to mention ; and when I got older the hired men 
would put me up to insult the neighbor girls ; and if I was 
slow about it, they’d call me a coward, and tell me that I’d 
never be any sort of a man at all, if I didn’t show more 
grit. Well, things kept on that way, till I got to think- 
ing that meanness was manliness, that cowardice was 
bravery, and that yielding to the bad advice of others was 
independence. So I got started wrong. I saw I was los- 
ing self-respect, and cheerfulness, and interest in what I 
read ; but I’d got started, and I just kept on. Father just 
laughed, and said that a young man had to sow his wild 
oats. I’ve learned since that time that wild oats always 
stick to a field when once they get a start in it ; and I’ve 
found that they have stuck to me in the shape of regrets, 
remorse, unpleasant memories, and loss of cheerfulness, 
and a real interest in life. I’m not particularly trying to 
clear myself of blame, Kate ; but in justice to us, you 
ought to know that men have more temptations than 
women ; and I believe that if girls, right from their 
cradles up, were allowed to see everything, and encour- 
aged to talk everything mean, and pointed at as cowards 
if they refused to do low-down things, why, I do not be- 
lieve that there would be any more pure women than there 
are pure men. I tell you, Kate, as long ago as I can re- 
member I had vile practices, and my parents knew of 
them, and would either wink at each other slyly, or pass 
by without noticing. I wasn’t a stubborn child, and I be- 
lieve that if my mother had taken me on her knee and 
reasoned with me, that I would have been easily controlled 
in the matter. I know that a mother has heavy respon- 
sibilities ; but then if she is not willing to shoulder them, 
she oughtn’t to be a mother. I think she deserves the 
holiest and purest treatment of any creature on earth ; and 
then I think she ought to make herself thoroughly worthy 
of it. Lots of people get married, and go to raising chil- 
dren, when they’re not fit to raise pigs ; and I tell you if 
there’s anything at all that a child has got an absolute 


tHE FORTUNES OF NANNIE ALLEN. ^1 

right to demand, and to make a fuss about if he don’t get 
it, it’s good raising. Of course the faulty parent is not all 
to blame — he in his turn has been carelessly brought up 
and likely enough his parents before him. But the faulti- 
est person can improve himself some, if he’ll quietly set 
to work and study himself, and try to weed out the inter- 
ests that the Old Harry has in him, and just in proportion 
as he improves himself, his children will be improved. A 
man can obtain his mean qualities and his dishonesties 
from two sources only — from what he inherits and from 
what he is permitted to learn. The parents can modify 
inheritance, but can not wholly change it ; they can 
almost entirely control what the child is permitted to learn ; 
and if they are sufficiently earnest and painstaking, they 
can teach him to control all inherited failings. This will 
not be easily done ; some pleasures and indulgences will 
have to be foregone ; the great world will have to be op- 
posed and to some extent neglected ; but while the parent 
is neglecting the world in one way, he is studying its good 
in a more direct one. The best thing we can do for the 
world is to rear good citizens who will study its improve- 
ment. The woman who expects to rear noble children 
must give them her time ; she must be their first love, and 
her sentiments must form the foundation of their great- 
ness. The ideas, the theories, and the facts which they 
learn from her will always be first in their hearts. 

“ Well, as soon as I was old enough to reason for myself, 
I got thoroughly disgusted, and resolved that I’d behave 
myself, and never let go of decency again. I kept the 
resolve ; but that didn’t bring back the self-respect that I’d 
lost. And there’s another thing, Kate ; it was more sur- 
prise than anger that sent me away from you last night. 
Men get to thinking that those women are hardly human, 
and they lose all human feeling for ’em ; and when I saw 
you there, so neat and intelligent and lady-like, and heard 
what you had to say of yourself, I was dumbfounded. When 
I got to thinking it over a little, I waked up to my senses. 
I know that lots of women are natural criminals just as 
lots of men are, but I know that lots more become bad 
from being sneaked and deceived and lied to and lied 
about, and that these latter would lots of ’em be just as 
pure as anybody’s mother or sister, if only they had had a 
fair chance. Weakness destroys thousands more people 
than meanness does. Then lots of those women would 


92 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


come out yet and try to do right, if only the world would 
give ’em half a chance, which it won’t. I’ve seen the 
lowest dogs marry pure women, and the world was ready 
to carry ’em round on a chip as soon as they’d made a little 
money. 

“ And the more I think of this marriage of ours, Kate, 
the more faith I have in it’s being just the right kind of one 
for you and me. We are equals, and equals make the best 
of teams, whether for driving, racing, or heaiy draft work. 
No impure person has any right to a pure one, unless the 
pure one knows all about the other, and goes into the mar- 
riage open-eyed ; and even then I don’t have much 
respect for the match. And if we have children, Kate, I 
don’t want any pictures of half-naked women, with great 
beefsteak arms, and vulgar exposures of flashy necks and 
limbs, hanging about the house to excite their evil natures, 
and keep back the better qualities of mind and heart. I 
tell you that if vulgar stories and obscene language were 
forgotten, lots of harm would still be done by the soft, im- 
pressionable minds of children dwelling upon half-nude 
pictures. I think that if people have a liking for pretty 
women’s pictures, that it’s all right — they won’t get any- 
thing prettier. But I can’t see how any beauty is added 
by showing a quarter-section of neck and breast, or a dis- 
gusting lower limb. If all women dressed like men, wore 
trousers to keep their limbs covered, and it was the custom, 
I’d see no particular harm in it. People would be used to 
it, and would not think the publishing of the limbs vulgar, 
so long as they Avere properly covered. Still, I’d see 
nothing to be gained by it ; the skirts are infinitely prettier 
than trousers would be, and they look comfortable and 
modest. I like the idea of the sexes dressing differently, 
and believe that women can Avear properly made skirts and 
feel just as Avell in them as men feel in their clothes. But 
Avomen are prettier than men, and are for the ornament of 
the race, while we men are more for the strength — I mean 
physically only, Kate — and I Avill always like the idea of 
your looking prettier and more graceful than I. But I 
can’t see that vulgarity adds anything to beauty, and I do 
know that it appeals to the lowest natures of men and 
boys. 

“And now, Kate, I hope AA^e’ll be happy. We’ve both 
been through enough shame and sorrow and trouble, to 
make us reason and think about what we do. We’ve got 


THE PARTIAL OUTCOME OF A DREAM OF LOVE. 93 

nothing to reproach each other with, and there’s no need 
of us worrying over a past that we’ve redeemed so well. I 
feel that we’ve made a good move by this marriage ; and 
on the whole, I haven’t felt so well since we took Donelson.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE PARTIAL OUTCOME OP A DREAM OF LOVE. 

After the talk with Hetty Ann Bales, Gessia felt a 
little more strength of endurance, but no more happiness 
than before. What consolation was it for her to know 
that other women were miserable ? She was not one who 
wished others to suffer because she suffered. If we are in 
prison, let us rejoice that some of our friends are free, and 
able to help, rather than that all are as helpless as our- 
selves. 

He who dies from heart-break dies a slow and awful 
death. Gessia’s glad, eager spirit had been killed by the 
agony of that first loss of faith, but her strong, healthy 
body survived. She performed the household duties ex- 
pected of her, but the work was entered without interest 
and finished without triumph. She no longer cared whether 
the floors were faultlessly clean, or whether the glassware 
sparkled and shone. Why should the house be clean and 
spotless, while character was soiled? Weary days glide 
together and make up weary weeks ; weary weeks make 
weary months; and the months form into groups of twelve, 
and make years. The time rolled slowly on. She was 
compelled, in her husband’s presence, to assume a cheer- 
fulness that she did not feel, or put up with a persecution 
as galling as it was continuous. And then he was all she 
had; she had thrown aside the world for him, and she 
must make the best of her lot. And presently her three- 
quarters of a year of sickness came to an end. After 
twelve hours of bodily torture, so fearful that words are 
idle in its description, she lay white and still upon her bed, 
with her bloodshot eyes bent upon a little baby at her side. 
John was in raptures; he was a father, and more than 
that, the father of a son. The only thing to interfere 
with his happiness was the fact that Gessia had taken on 
60 Gessia always did take on about the least thing — he 


94 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


might have expected it, of course. But he would keep up 
the role of good husband, no matter if his wife were per- 
verse. 

“ Now, Gessia, brace up and look cheerful,” he said. 
“Just think what a nice boy we have.” 

“ I hope he’ll be good man,” faltered Gessia. 

“ Of course, he will be — good enough for anybody. I’m 
going to raise him to be honorable, but I don’t want him 
to be silly or fanatical.” 

“ If he is good, he’ll be neither,” answered Gessia. 
Then she' pressed her lips to the little pink forehead, and 
great tears fell upon the little face. She groaned aloud as 
she thought of the rapture that might have been. But 
her tears and groans were for a lost cause ; she felt that 
happiness had fled forever, but hope for the little creature 
at her side was left. He would one day be a man, and he 
was hers to educate, to shape and to mould. Might not 
the realization of her hope come in him ? Might not he 
be her dream-hero, who would believe that the person of 
every woman was as sacred, as much to be respected and 
protected, as that of his wife, mother, or sister ? So with 
the birth of this son, hope was born again, and the child 
of the imagination lay beside his twin brother of the flesh, 
and cheered the unhappy wife. And as she lay, day after 
day, on her white bed, carefully tended by her nurse, life 
again took on a few roseate tints, because there was again 
in her small circle an unsullied individuality to love. 

But the baby was cross. He kicked and squirmed and 
cried when there seemed to be no excuse for so doing. He 
let go of his mother’s breast to look up into her face and 
cry out in a voice of infinite woe. He cried at night, in 
the morning, and in the daytime ; he supplied a regular and 
well filled program of music. John was disappointed. He 
feared that the baby was going to be like his mother. 

“Mrs. Solomon,” said the nurse one day, “you must 
have had something on your mind ; you must have wor- 
ried about something. I never saw a crosser child.” 

“ Oh, I think he isn’t well,” answered Gessia. 

“ But he is well ; he is extra-hearty, and grows like a 
weed. He is either craving something, or else he’s worry- 
ing about something.” Gessia laughed sadly. “ How 
can a baby that knows nothing at all, worry about any- 
thing? ” she asked. 

“ Their knowing nothing has nothing to do with it ; if 


THE PARTIAL OUTCOME OP A DREAM OP LOVE. 95 

the mother has had anything on her mind that she 
oughtn’t to have had, the child’ll worry about it. I’ve 
seen it often enough.” Gessia was silent ; she remembered 
what Hetty Ann Bales had said about troubles being easier 
to manage when kept at home. 

She was soon up again, and her nurse left her. Then 
her household duties and her care of the baby kept her 
very busy. She was sorry that the baby was so cross, but 
it was too late now — like everything else she had hoped 
for, her child was a disappointment. 

‘‘ What does make that young one so infernal cross ? ” 
asked John one day when the entertainment had been 
louder, and a little more persistent than usual. 

“ The nurse said it was because I had worried about 
something,” said Gessia. 

John frowned heavily ; “ I wouldn’t be a bit surprised 
if that is it, Gessia,” he said, in a deeply injured tone. “ If 
you’d acted like other women, we might have had a nice 
baby, and been happy. But now here’s a squalling young 
one added to the rest of our troubles.” And John sighed 
deeply. 

couldn’t help worrying,” said Gessia. ^^If you 
were to stab a man, would you blame the wound for bleed- 
ing?” 

“ I think, and I always have thought,” said John ; “ that 
when a thing is past and gone, that the only sensible way 
is to make the best of it.” 

“ If any one had done you so grievous a wrong, you 
would not have tried to make the best of it. If any one 
had deceived you, and tricked you into an alliance with a 
soiled creature, you would have seen the matter in a very 
different light. It was wrong to degrade those poor crea- 
tures as you did ; and it was a still greater wrong to deceive 
a pure woman into marrying you, and then after she is 
bound and helpless, tell her that which you knew must 
embitter her life.” 

‘‘ But, Gessia, you ought to be reasonable ; it’s all done 
now. I'm sorry I did it, but it’s too late to fret over it. 
You can’t change the world, and so you had better adapt 
yourself to it. You will have to learn to take people as 
they are, and not as they should be.” 

That argument has been used by too many tyrants, to 
palliate too many deeds of injustice and crime ; it is the 
old threadbare argument that ages of oppression have 


96 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


called in to blind the thinkers cf the world to the enor- 
mity of their deeds. You do not mean it, John ; it is the 
argument of desperation, and is unworthy your intelligence. 
It is impossible that you should wish me to adapt my soul 
to such a vile thing as the public opinion of tiiis world ; 
you simply wish me to look over your mistakes, and to 
forgive you. I can do that so far as ceasing to harbor re- 
sentment is concerned, but I can never come to look con- 
tentedly on a crime. I’d rather lose your love, my own 
life, or the baby’s, than to see the day when I could smil- 
ingly ally myself with shame. I have given myself to 
you, to be your wife, and I’ll be true to you, and to what 
children may come. But it is not right that I should be 
your wife, and for that reason I can never be glad and 
happy. I did wrong to live with you an instant after 
what you told me, but it was all so sudden that it drove 
thought away. Then I found that the baby was coming, 
and I knew I couldn’t leave ; now, I will not. I will 
cling to the baby, and my one hope is to make him a good 
man. You say that if the world is wrong that I must 
adapt myself to it ; I say not. If the world is intolera^ 
ble to one who desires only good to its inhabitants, it is 
wrong, and should be changed. It should be made to 
adapt itself to the noblest ideas of the noblest people.” 

That is very easy to say, but how will you do it ? ” 

“ It will not be done by trampling upon its helpless 
creatures, and feasting and lauding its greatest rogues — 
by pointing the finger of scorn at its writhing victims, and 
sickening with adulation its most inhuman tyrants. It 
will only be done by the echoes of martyrs’ cries and by 
the evolutions of sages’ brains. Earth has stricken with 
death a few of her forms of oppression and injustice ; but 
the cries and groans and curses that arise on every hand, 
prove to us that she has only begun.” 

John did not pursue the subject, and slow as he Avas to 
weep, the tears rose to his eyes — great tears of sorrow that 
such a good, moderate fellow should have so little prospect 
of happiness. What was the use of arguing with this 
woman who utterly refused to see his life through the eyes 
of the great, generous, sensible w^orld ? He tickled the 
baby under the chin and wondered if all men were so 
devilish unlucky. Here, after being just as careful as he 
could in his choosing, and passing by women with prop- 
erty, to marry the one he loved, he must be treated like 


THE PARTIAL OUTCOME OF A DREAM OF LOVE. 97 

this. Suddenly he seemed to think of something; he 
threw his head backward and said, with as much of a 
swagger as he could possibly assume : 

“ Look here, Gessia, you are always prating morals so 
loud, now look at it this way : Now those women are al- 
ready ruined ; they get hungry, and if they are not patron- 
ized they’ll starve. Now the money I gave those women 
may have been a blessing to them — they might have been 
hungry.” 

“ Need you have degraded yourself, to save them from 
hunger ? Could you not have handed a suffering fellow 
creature money for her needs, if she had asked it, without 
polluting your body and deadening your sense of shame ? 
Need you have purchased your own disgrace with the alms 
you gave ? ” John resumed his silence ; it was clearly of 
no use to talk to Gessia; she couldn’t reason; she was 
the most prejudiced creature he had ever seen. More 
than that, she was out of her place to speak up and up- 
braid her husband in that fashion ; she was unwomanly 
and he would tell her of it. 

‘‘ Gessia,” he said, I think its a woman’s place to 
attend to her children and do her duty about her house, 
and not worry so much about morals and things she 
doesn’t know anything about. You are out of your place 
when you take my arguments up and put them to scorn.” 

“ People are always out of place when they oppose us 
in argument or attempt to criticise our faults. I do not 
see why one should be called out of place because he ad. 
vances an honest opinion. As for my home and my child, 
I do not neglect them, and I shall not do so while my 
strength holds out. I know that I am peevish and fret- 
ful, but you sprung your cruel secret upon me just in time 
to murder all my happiness. I have fretted over it dur- 
ing my period of delicate health until I fear for my mind. 
You know that I was once as gay and happy as a child, 
but my nature is such that my cheerfulness can not sur- 
vive the death of faith. Be patient. I will try not to 
bring up the subject again.” 

“ No ; but you’ll look it, and w^alk it, and sigh it.” 

“ The wound is there ; it is certain to show, but be as 
patient as you can.” 

As the months rolled on, Gessia’s health began to fail. 
The endless heartache, the many household duties, the 
nursing of the baby, and its continued fretting, were grad- 
7 


98 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


ually stealing away the plumpness of her form, and the 
bloom of her cheek. But she was fairer than ever ; her 
great dark eyes shone forth like stars from her thin white 
face, and not even the heavy household duties could rob 
her hands of their waxen loveliness. She moved about 
the house uncomplainingly, and performed all the duties of 
a housewife ; but she seemed like a lovely spirit walking a 
round of duty. John watched her with an aching heart. 
Of course she was cranky and cross and unreasonable, but 
then she was so loving and sweet once — he feared she 
would never be again. He found it impossible to wish he 
had not married her, much as he regretted her change. 
He always said to himself that she was sw^eeter to him in 
her white and suffering discontent, than any other woman 
would be in radiant smiles. But sometimes thoughts came 
to him that made him quake with fear ; she was so white 
and still. Would she never get over it, and be cheerful, 
and make him happy ? If she failed to do so, he would 
lose faith in the theory that goodness is rewarded wdth 
happiness. He had been so reasonable and moderate — so 
much better than other men, that he thought himself 
worthy of great happiness. 

Gessia,” he said one morning. “ You might just as 
well talk about the trouble as to look and act the way you 
do. Every step you take is a proclamation that you are 
unhappy.” 

Oh, what good can come from talking — or from any- 
thing else ? ” 

“ Why don’t you get your mind on other things.^ Think 
about educating Ralph. You know how much harm you 
did him by fretting, and now that you expect another one, 
you are going on in just the same way.” 

I cannot help it. It has injured my mind. I can no 
longer control my thoughts. What have I to hope for 
for the children? How can I expect them to be self- 
respecting ? Of course, you do not care if your sons are 
vicious, but let me ask you how you can hope that your 
daughters will not inherit your vile traits ? Are children 
supposed to draw only the traits of the mother, and reject 
those of the father ? ” 

Oh, well, people that have girls have to take care of 
them. Of course they’d do wrong if they were not looked 
after.” 

‘‘ Then if either sex will do wrong when not properly 


THE PARTIAL OUTCOME OF A DREAM OF LOVE. 99 

raised, why not also try to teach a little morality to the boys, 
and keep them, also, carefully up to the line of moral ex- 
cellence that is demanded for their sisters?” 

“Well, they’d suffer with their passions.” 

“ W ould they ? And yet you think that it makes no differ- 
ence how much women suffer in consequence of those same 
passions. How many go to life-long misery and shame, 
how many blush for insults received, or how many feel the 
agony that I am feeling now. Society requires that we 
women shall conquer our passions, and hold them under 
complete subjection ; but it does not ask you even to 
restrain yours. The bringing forth of a child is three 
quarters of a year of endless sickness and suffering. Then 
after the little one has come, there is a life of responsibility 
to raise and educate it, and direct its little mind. Is not 
the burden of continued child-rearing heavy enough with- 
out the weight of disgrace being added?” 

“How is what I’ve done to hurt you?” 

“ Put yourself in my place. Imagine yourself — ” 

“ Oh, yes, bring that up. Why don’t you quit thinking 
about it? Why don’t you dress up and visit around like 
Mrs. Ransom, and have a good time?” 

“ What happiness could come to me from covering my 
shamed flesh with silk, or trying to hide the suffering in 
my face with paints and cosmetics ? No, I will not stifle 
the voice of my shame when it wishes to cry aloud, nor 
will I deafen my ears to the cry of my fallen sisters. I will 
not allow myself to become callous and cruel.” 

You are going on at a terrible rate, Gessia, and say- 
ing a lot of things that you have no business to say ; but 
why can’t you remember that nearly all men practice such 
habits ? How can you blame me for doing as nearly all 
other men do ? ” 

“ The man who resolutely directs his own course in spite 
of the opposing forces of public custom, must indeed be 
strong ; but it is only he who does so, that awakens the 
world to the fact that it has ceased to roll on, and causes 
it to leave the corpses of its crimes and tyrannies behind. 
The world is easily satisfied with its record ; it is so busy 
with its amusements and its gains, that it cannot hear the 
cries of those tliat it is crushing and destroying. When 
it is forced to make a reform it makes it, and then stops 
satisfied, until some rash, but noble individual points out 


100 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


to it a neglected offense and resolutely lashes it into new 
endeavor.” 

‘‘ I used to think, Gessia, that you loved me, but I have 
found that it was only my reputation that you loved.” 

“Love? Love is the fair and frail and beautiful statue 
that is founded upon the lofty pedestal, respect. And 
just in proportion as the pedestal is firm and sure, is 
the statue safe for preservation. But when the pedestal 
is snatched away, the fair creation falls whirling and hurt- 
ling to the unfeeling earth, where it is crushed out of re- 
cognition. If the statue be coarse and heavy and rude, it 
will be less injured by the fall ; but if it be lofty, fairy- 
like, etherial and majestic, it will be mangled and lost ; 
and no tears shed over its scattered fragments, and no 
human skill can remodel, or make it what it has been.” 

John bent his head and covered his face with his hands ; 
the bitterness which in his youth he had stored up for his 
manhood was making itself tasted. “Why won’t you 
understand that the passion of youth carries away reason ? * 
he asked. 

“ Passion ? Passion, when it is unsullied by a vile and 
perverted imagination, is holy. It prompts a man to 
undertake the support of a woman, and to keep himself 
and her away from the rest of the world, for the sake of 
mutual bliss. It prompts him to love and nurture and 
carefully educate the children of that union. It roofs the 
house that shall shelter his loved ones from the storm, and 
it nerves his arm as he toils for their bread. It thrills 
the hands of the wife as she prepares her husband’s food, 
and sends a quiver of delight to the breast from which her 
babe draws its life. Passion alone never yet insulted a 
woman, nor destroyed the chastity of a man. It is only 
when it is perverted by a vicious imagination and fed by 
vile stories in which the rights of virtue are scoffed at, and 
when it is supplemented by the tyranny of self-gratifica- 
tion, that it becomes dangerous, and rules the human tene- 
ment in which it dwells.” 

“Well, anyhow, Gessia, I never thought that you’d be 
like you are. I never saw a more cheerful person than 
you used to be ; I thought that you could get over any- 
thing.” 

“ Oh, John, I believe that those who are capable of the 
greatest happiness, provided it be honest, unselfish happi- 
ness, are also capable of the greatest misery.” 


CHAPTER X. 

A REMINDER OF THE OLD TIME. 

The months rolled on until a second son was given to 
the Solomons. He was fat and hearty, and resembled 
Ralph very closely, both in personal appearance and in his 
manner of exercising 'his lungs to their utmost capacity. 
Ilis cry was perhaps a little more full and resonant than 
the well-remembered baby wail of his brother, but still 
there was a strong general resemblance. Ralph had made 
up in continuity what he lacked in volume. The new son 
was christened Henry, but the water of baptism seemed 
to make no progress in w'ashing away his grief. He 
kicked just as persistently, and screamed just as loud as 
ever. 

Gessia dismissed her help as soon as she could make 
the rounds of the house — she was almost glad that there 
was so mueh work to do — it kept in check the maddening 
devils of thought that pursued her. She cooked, washed, 
baked, mended, nursed, and soothed mechanically, and all 
the time the whining of Ralph and the screaming of 
Henry made imps of discordant sound that danced in her 
weary ears. The march of suffering was recorded in her 
white face, and the Giant Despair looked ceaselessly out of 
lier great staring eyes. Then she would think of her girl- 
hood days when life had been so sweet and fair — . 
when after her lessons were given she owned her 
time, and could read and write, or visit lecture, con- 
cert, or theatre. There had been cares then, but there 
was no shame. As she thought it over, the rippling of 
glossy ribbons, the sweet perfume of lace-trimmed handker- 
chiefs, the soft touch of pale-tinted gloves, the rustle of 
well-laundried white dresses, the eagerness, the ambition, 
the hope of youth, would come back upon her wearied 
senses, and for a time lull her perturbed spirit into peace- 
ful reveries, only to yield again to the agonies of fact. 
Her sweet girlhood years w'ere gone forever, and she had 
been given in return for them, misery and despair. Some- 
times she half believed that the institution of marriage 
was a failure ; but wlien her reason would return, she 
would wearily say : “ No, it is not marriage that is to 

blame ; marriage is good enough for man, but very few 
men are good enough for marriage.” 


101 


102 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


One afternoon she sat rocking the babe, while little 
Ralph hung to the arm of the rocker crying to be taken. 
She made room for bim by taking the babe on lier arm, 
and then swaying back and forth she wearily sang ; 

** Oh come, let us drink of the waters of Lethe 
And quickly forget earth’s tears, trouble, and pain ; 

We’ll float on the billows of hope’s untried sea, 

Till the breakers of fact cast us shoreward again. 

•* Oh, then shall up-spring the dear thoughts of our youth, 

Like buoys that shall guide us to virtue and peace ; 

We’ll shun the sharp reef-rocks of crime and despair, 

And float happily on, to the spirit’s release. 

** The bark that is sailing bears only our souls— 

They are hasting away seeking refuge and rest. 

They are weary and sick of old earth’s long despair, 

Oh, sweet be their voyage and happy their quest. 

** Oh, then shall up-spring the dear thoughts of our youth, 

Like buoys that shall guide us to virtue and peace. 

We’ll shun the sharp reef-rocks of crime and despair. 

And float happily on, to the spirit’s release.” 

The children loved their mother’s singing, and were con- 
sequently silent during its progress ; but when at its close 
a knock was heard at the door, they recommenced their 
cry. She carried the two to the door — the babe in her 
arms and Ralph on her skirts. 

‘‘ Mr. De Kalb ! ” she said, in surprise. “ Come in. 
Why, I thought that you had left this part of the coun- 
try.” 

I have not been about here for some time,” said De 
Kalb, as he took the chair she offered. “ I am principal 
of a school in Bannertown and I’ve been kept pretty close 
for the last four- years. But I’m off for the summer now, 
so I thought I’d get out and see some old friends. I see 
you have two fine children. But you, Mrs. Solomon — 
pardon me, but you do not look so well as you did w^hen I 
saw you at the ball.” 

“ Oh,” said Gessia, wearily, as she soothed the baby, and 
endeavored to subdue the superior order of whining with 
which Ralph was entertaining the company, “ that is a 
long time ago ; so many things have happened since 
then.” 

“ It is only a little more than four years, I believe ; or 
am I mistaken ? ” 

“ Is it only that long? Well, I have forgotten. But 
years do not count ; other things do. These two little 
children take up a great deal of my time and strength. I 


A REMINDER OF THE OLD TIME. 103 

do not get much time to read, and I do not care to go 
about. Life gets heavier as cares come on.” 

“ Perhaps, Mrs. Solomon, you may not have time to 
entertain me ; and if your duties are too numerous to allow 
of your giving me any time, I hope that you will tell me 
so, and I will cease to intrude.” 

“ Oh, no ! ” said Gessia, with more earnestness than she 
had shown for months, “ Do not go. I am glad you came. 
Your visit brings back a glimpse of a lost time.” And 
though ashamed of the weakness which was produced by 
a failing reason, the tears flowed down her face. There 
was an awkward pause which neither felt like breaking. 
Finally Gessia spoke. 

“ Are you doing well ? ” she asked. 

“ Exceedingly well. My salary is good, and my sur- 
roundings very pleasant. My health, too, has improved 
so much that I have nothing to complam of in that direc- 
tion.” 

How differently our lives have turned out,” she said. 
“ When we met at the ball in Deer Trail Park, you were 
discouraged and sickly; you told me that your life had 
little promise; now you are well, happy, and hopeful. 
Then I was so happy that I scarcely believed in the 
reality of calamity ; now I am prematurely old, faded, and 
carew^orn.” 

De Kalb looked at her thoughtfully. “ Mrs. Solomon,” 
he said, “if a conscientious young man were to see you 
now, after having w'atched you flying about at the ball 
that night, and should believe that marriage had made the 
transformation, he w'ould hesitate about asking any woman 
to sacrifice single life for Lis sake.” 

‘‘ A conscientious man, Mr. De Kalb? I fear that such 
are very scarce. Men are most of them exceedingly con- 
scientious and careful wliere their own pleasure and 
interest is concerned ; but wdiat is a woman’s fondest hope 
to them ? We are the worms beneath their feet.” 

And as she spoke her eyes shot a gleam thatawedhim. His 
face turned white, but his heart was burning. No other 
woman had ever made the impression on his mind and 
heart that this one had. lie had loved her, had dreamed 
of her, had composed sonnets to her, and had resolved to 
seek her for his wife, when the news of her marriage had 
come to blast his hopes. Then, indeed, had he driven 
back his love, for it w^as unholy to love the married ; but 


104 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


her image was always a sweet memory to him. He 
remembered now of bis misgivings when he first heard of 
the marriage^ — his acquaintance with John was quite 
meagre, but he had studied his face and voted him callous 
and cruel ; now, the white, stricken creature before him 
proved this. But what right had he to interfere in her 
life? The time when he might have influenced that, had 
long since fled. Yet there was one question that puzzled 
him much, and about which he must ask. 

“ Mrs. Solomon,” he said, “ I hope that you will pardon 
me if I tread upon forbidden ground, but there is one mat- 
ter that I have often thought upon. I remember well 
what you said during our long talk about a woman’s nature, 
her loves, and her duties. You said that a beautiful M^oman 
might do infinite harm if she were malicious or even 
careless ; and that if a woman intended to marry, she 
should aim to attract only the man she expected to take 
for her husband. I have often thought of what you said, 
and believed that you entered into your marriage from 
purely conscientious motives.” 

Gessia looked down at her children. The baby had cried 
himself to sleep, and Ralph had whined himself into a 
slumber. She excused herself to carry them into the bed- 
room. As she resumed her chair, she said : “ The time 

was when I tried to regulate my slightest as well as my 
weightiest acts by the stern rule of right. But I have 
learned that even this strict watch of one’s conduct will 
not always insure happiness. Human beings are so 
bound, so knit together, that the misdeeds of a single 
person often insure misery to a great number. A short 
time after my marriage, circumstances compelled me to 
commit a wrong which was a life-long injury to myself 
and a serious example for others. It was a thing that I 
had often declared I would never do, but circumstances 
compelled me to do it. The wrong does not cease with 
myself. I w'as unhappy, restless, and sorrowing ; and for 
that reason my children, to whom I owed the noblest 
birthrights, are peevish, irritable, and gloomy. I love 
them, but my love continually reproaches me for wronging 
them by giving them such natures. If life w^ere not too 
sad a thing to admit of laughter, I would feel like laugh- 
ing at all human attempts. I know that my aims were 
high and my motives pure, yet my life is a dead failure, 
aud my hopes mock me.” 


A REMINDER OF THE OLD TIME. 105 

“ Mrs. Solomon, I cannot help believing that the cir- 
cumstances that forced you to do wrong, are more to blame 
than yourself.” 

“ I know,” she said, “ that I was cowardly because I 
did not keep my word. But I had loved my husband, I 
was bound to him, and I remembered the solemn promise 
I had made. Then the world is a stern critic, and it did 
not believe as I did. As long as I accepted the wrong 
and abided by it, the world would commend me ; I stayed 
and the world calls me faithful. Its frown is fearful, yet 
its commendation has not soothed nor satisfied me. I 
knew all the time that I was living a wrong life, and this 
knowledge, together with the memory of a broken vow, is 
killing me. My two little children, who are so hopelessly 
wronged, are the only ties which bind me here. In death 
only can I find the peace that I have lost.” 

De Kalb sprung from his chair. “ Why should you die 
for an offense that was forced upon you?” he cried, 
hoarsely. “Who compelled you to do it? For whose 
sake was the offense committed?” 

“Sir,” she said, quietly, “women marry, many of 
them know almost nothing of sin, and have great faith in 
the husbands they love. After they are married they 
learn dreadful things — things that take out of life all that 
makes its drudgery worth doing. And yet, because they 
have bound themselves, and because the world says they 
must yield, they sanction these crimes by living in the 
closest relations with those who committed them. This is 
w'hat I have done. I have sanctioned thus an offense that 
of all crimes seems to me the most useless,- disgusting, and 
horrible. There is no way out of it but into the grave, 
and I most earnestly hope that when I am there that my 
rest will be an eternal sleep, lest upon waking I feel again 
these relentless arrows of shame.” 

De Kalb arose, lifted his chair and set it violently down 
again ; then he strode back and forth across the floor, and 
ground his teeth in agony. But why should be do this ? 
The woman had been given to another and not to him ; it 
was not his privilege to right her wrongs. But to see this 
W'oman, whom he deemed fit to grace a palace and cheer 
the sorrows of a hero, made thus a victim of tyranny and 
an ally of shame, almost made him forget the gulf between 
them— not between her and his love, for that was forgot- 


106 


THE EATE OF A FOOL. 


ten ; but between her defenselessness and his right to 
avenge her wrongs. 

“ 81 ie has cast her pearls before swine,” he muttered 
savagely to himself. Then he gazed out of the window, 
but lie saw nothing. He turned and walked back to her. 

“ Mrs. Solomon ” he said, “ the world is indeed too 
strong for many of us. We find ourselves beset with evils 
which come upon us so suddenly and unexpectedly that we 
know not how to fight them. I have made it a rule to 
study my actions, and when I found that I was doing 
wrong, to stop, no matter what the effort cost. But this 
is no consolation to you. You cannot stop your present 
course, for nature has added links to the chain that binds 
you.” 

“ I do not ask to stop. Nature is merciful, and through 
the avenue of the grave I will gain liberty.” 

Her voice was torture to him, but what right had he to 
interfere in the inner ruling of this house ? He feared that 
he had already said too much, but the sight of this helpless 
creature, whose only protector had become a tyrant and a 
jailer, was too much for his prudence. Suddenly he turned 
and said ; 

“ I have no right to ask it ; but is your husband happy ?” 

‘‘ I fear not,” she replied. “ He often tells me how 
happy I might have made him, if I had only done as he 
wished, and as other women did, but I couldn’t do that — 
I couldn’t content myself with his record of shame.” 

He Kalb turned again, and strode back and forth across 
the floor and muttered to himself. That man had every- 
thing to make him happy,” he muttered. ^^Everything, and 
yet he has trampled it under foot and wasted it all.” 
Then he said aloud : 

“ Mrs. Solomon, I am going away to-day, and will not 
be back here this season — perhaps never again. But I 
want to tell you that I am glad we have known each other. 
The world is fearfully cruel and heartless, and on every 
side arises the cry of the crushed and the helpless. So far 
as I personally am concerned, I have no social sins to 
blush for; my mother saved me from that. She died 
when I was only a child, but I have never forgotten her 
teachings in regard to justice to others. But I have been 
cold and thoughtless. I have been careful of myself, but 
have neglected to influence others as I might have done. 
The mentals of young men need attention, to be sure ; 


A hemikder op the old time. 107 

but people forget that their morals need quite as much 
training, if not more. People do not expect their sons to 
rise to intellectual ability without giving them strong intel- 
lectual training ; then how can they expect them to rise to 
moral grandeur through moral neglect ? It is my opinion 
that if part of the time spent in putting useless acquire- 
ments into young people’s heads, was spent in putting 
moral strength in their hearts, that the result would be 
much more productive of happiness. I will from this on 
try to make myself more of a companion to the young men 
under iny charge, and try to influence them for good. I 
bid you good-day.” And without touching the fair, wasted 
hand he withdrew from the house. 

Gessia sat silent in her chair until her husband came in. 

“ Who was that man that was here so long ? ” asked the 
latter. 

‘‘ Mr. De Kalb, that I met at the ball in the park, about 
four years ago she replied. 

“ You’ll get your name up, Gessia, receiving men when 
you are alone.” 

“ What right have you, stained as you are with filth, to 
preach duty to me ? ” she said, in a voice that approached 
a shriek, while a dangerous light fiashed from her eyes. 

“ Oh, you’ve gotan aw'ful bad husband ! ” said John, in a 
mocking tone. Suppose I had beaten you, like some 
men do their wives ? ” 

“ I would rather you had ! I would rather, when I be- 
lieved our love was pure, that you had taken me in your 
arms and stabbed me to the heart. So long as I believed 
you w^ere all mine, I could have kissed your hand, all red 
with my blood, and sunk down and died with my lips 
pressed to your feet.” 

“Do you know what you are saying? You are telling 
me that 1 am worse than a murderer!” 

You are a murderer! Your crime was the infliction 
of an agonizing wmund that takes years to kill. There is 
iio wmrm blood gushing out of my broken heart to tell me 
that my death agony will be short. Mine is a long, slow 
march to the grave, where eveiy step is fraught with pain, 
and where every land-mark tells of defeat.” 

“ You are insane ! ” 

“Yes, I am insane! You have produced in me two 
kinds of insanity; the first was the insanity of love — the 
second the insanity of despair. A man can so live as to 


108 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


produce either of these in his home. You have taken 
your choice. Abide by it ! 

Gessia fainted for the first time in her life ; she fell from 
her chair. She was soon aroused by the vigorous ministra- 
tions of her thoroughly frightened husband ; she found her- 
self upon the lounge, with her husband’s tears falling upon her 
face. Perhaps the latter did more to bring back her senses 
than all his studied efibrts. She looked at him with the 
wondering stare which is common to one just emerging 
from a fainting-fit. 

“ What are you crying for, John? ” she asked, as if trying 
in vain to recollect what had passed. 

“Oh, Gessia,” he answered, “I want to talk to you. 
You don’t know what danger you are in. Why, I’m actu- 
ally afraid for your mind. Your voice is unnatural, and 
your eyes take on a terrible look sometimes. You must 
stop and think. You are too excitable to worry so much. 
Now I can begin to see that I did wrong, but then it wasn’t 
my fault. Ike Ransom is to blame for every bit of it. 
I’m ashamed of myself, but I can’t help it now. And 
you must think seriously about yourself. There’s an awful 
thing might happen to you — something worse than death. 
You must quiet your nerves, and quit thinking on such 
dreary subjects. If you’d like to go driving to-morroAv, 
I’ll stop everything to take you.” And John, having now 
made a deeper apology than he had ever made before in 
his life, felt that his wife ought to recognize his compla- 
cence and return at once to the old time cheerfulness. 
But she only said; 

“I’m glad that you see your wrong, John; I know that 
I’ll feel blotter now.” 

When crime enters a life, it proclaims the birth of tyranny 
and deceit; the offender becomes to a greater oiTess degree 
a tyrant, because in his desire to defend his sin, he uses 
brutality and force — he must use these because there is no 
argument to defend either injustice or injury to the helpless. 
He becomes deceitful because there are always some per- 
sons before whom he wishes to appear clean ; and, because, 
when comes the time that he shall regret his sin — as come 
it certainly will — he will endeavor to lay the blame of his 
mistakes upon the shoulders of another. A man is always 
in some degree to blame for his mistakes ; it may be only 
slightly. If he has yielded to the the malicious teachings 
of another, his crimes are his lack of discernment between 


THE EVIL WATS OF THE HATTONS. 109 

right and wrong, and his weakness under persuasion. If 
he is incompetent to maintain a straight moral record 
through neglect on the part of his parents, he is indeed 
unfortunate ; still, if he fall, there will be blame on his side, 
be it ever so small. The world is a great and a severe 
teacher, and from it he might have learned. Perhaps it 
may be said that he was by nature too callous and unintel- 
ligent to understand the life-lessons he saw around him — 
if this be true, such moral apathy is one of the most dan- 
gerous crimes which beset and menace society. Igno- 
rance of books is not half so much to be deplored, and to 
be fought, as is ignorance of what constitutes justice to our 
fellows. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE EVIL WAYS OP THE HATTONS. 

It is necessary at this point in our story to go back a 
little and take up the narrative of that particularly unwise 
individual, F rank Hatton. It has already been stated that 
Ike Ransom had succeeded in destroying the good name 
of Sallie Lentz. Her relations with him, however, had 
continued but a short time. She had soon perceived his 
utter hardness of heart, his callous selfishness, and his utter 
obtuseness in regard to the welfare and rights of others. 
So when she learned that he had no intention of marrying 
her, she abandoned him, cut his acquaintance, and made 
friends with Frank Hatton, who was kind to her and who 
had often warned her against Ike. 

Several years after the beginning of this new intimacy 
she became the mother of a fine boy. Frank, upon this, 
pledged himself to marry her, whenever she should name 
the day. But as he had not a dollar of his own, and was 
dissipated and out of employment, Sallie saw nothing 
to be gained by immediate marriage, since the time for 
saving her good name was long since past. But the en- 
gagement still continued, and Sally, because she could get 
no honest employment, went, with Frank’s consent, into 
the dance-house at Milroy City. This was, of course, a very 
bad arrangement, but Frank was one of those foolish men 


110 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


who reasoned that it was no worse for his intended bride 
to be in a house of questionable reputation, than it was 
for him to be there. If he had been broadly and gener- 
ously educated, like many young men are, he would have 
insisted that his intended stay at home and make tatting, 
while he was telling lewd jokes and kissing the paint off 
of wasted cheeks, in a house such as our grand civilization 
approves and licenses. 

By the time the child was four years old, Frank had 
accumulated a few head of cattle and a moderately good 
team of horses. He rented the Davidson ranche, maiTied 
Sallie, and moved vdth her into the neat little stone house, 
in its little clump of fruit-trees. The child was brought 
home from the house of an old woman, where he had been 
kept, in return for a small monthly stipend paid by Sallie, 
and the little family took its place as one of the house- 
holds of Bowlder Creek. 

Of course all of Frank’s friends had come to him indi- 
vidually and collectively, and warned him against doing 
such a foolish thing. If he wanted to turn over a new 
leaf, why not do it right ? Why not leave the bad women 
he had been running with, marry a nice girl, and be some- 
body ? If he married that strumpet and recognized that 
child, nobody would visit with his family, and his chances 
of being elected to office would be everlastingly ruined. 
But Frank was too much of a brute to listen to this excel- 
lent advice ; he answered that he w^ould do what he con- 
sidered liis duty, regardless of social recognition or official 
plums. He answered that his partner in guilt was no 
worse than he was, and that she loved him ; he also had 
the audacity to fly in the face of society and our improved 
order of civilization, by declaring himself unfit to marry a 
pure woman. Furthermore, he stated that he didn’t con- 
sider the child to blame for being a bastard, and didn’t 
understand why he should be kicked and cuffed about on 
that account. It will be readily seen that Frank was a 
dangerous enemy to public orders ; had he looked into the 
matter right, he would have seen that a child who had no 
more judgment than to be born outside of wedlock ought 
to be deserted by its father, raised in a county poor-house, 
and slurred upon every possible occasion, to prevent its 
repeating the offense, and to act as a wholesome warning 
to other infants who intend trying their fortunes in this 
humane world. But Frank could not understand these 


THE EVIL WAYS OF THE HATTONS. Ill 

things; he was one of those blind, reckless, individuals, 
who cared, so little for the delicate opinions of his neigh- 
bors and. friends, that lie would trample the said opinions 
into the dust to do what he thought he ought to. He 
politely announced that he intended to do as much as 
possible to retrieve his past, and to right the wrongs of 
those whom he had injured. The friends and neiglibors 
answered this defiance with one equally terrible — they 
wouldn’t call — they’d be d — d if they would. 

But in spite of this fearful decision, the Hattons got 
along very well. Frank’s crops prospered, his stock in- 
creased, and he carefully saved his money. Sallie w^as in- 
dustrious and economical, and her hens became celebrated 
far and wide as egg producers. She raised chickens, 
ducks, garden-stuff, and berries; she read books and stories 
to her boy, and played with and sang to him. Her time 
was nearly all her owm, for the neighbors kept good their 
resolve not to visit with her — ^that is nearly all of them— . 
there were two exceptions. Hetty Ann Bales and Gessia 
Solomon decided in their own hearts that it was no w orse 
for them to visit such women as Sallie for the purpose of 
encouragement and friendship, than it was for their hus- 
bands to visit them for the purpose of crime. So they flew 
in the face of all decency — so the neighbors said — ^by 
going over occasionally, and chatting a half hour with 
Sallie. Of course they had to do this in defiance of their 
husbands’ wishes, for a man does not relax his watch upon 
his wife because there are a few irregularities in his own 
record. 

Jakie Hatton improved fast under his mother’s teaching, 
and at the time he was eight years old w'as started to the 
district school. He was reading fluently in the Second 
Header, was a master-hand at figures, and it might also be 
added that his muscular abilities were not to be “ sneered 
at.” He was built wdth the heavy, burly form of his 
father, lightened by aU the quickness and agility of his 
mother. His father had often engaged with him in mimic 
combats, just for the purpose of enlivening a weary hour, 
and Jakie had developed so much skid from these en- 
counters, that, without having the slightest knowledge of 
the fact, he was an amateur boxer to be respected if not 
feared. 

The school-boys did not like the presence of Jakie in 
their midst. Their parents had mourned loudly in their 


112 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


hearing of the day when that “ mess of a child ” should 
start to school along with their immaculate children. So 
they mentally ‘‘ sized up’* the stranger, voted him slow, 
and decided that he would be easily disposed of. But of 
course it would never do to “ lick ” a boy on general 
principles; some sort of occasion must be waited for. 
Jakie knew nothing of this enmity ; he was petted at home, 
and he naturally expected to be treated well at school. 
Those who know nothing of ill-treatment do not expect it. 
So during the recesses of his first day at school, Jakie was 
very friendly with the boys of his size, divided his two 
apples with them, and helped two of them add their sums. 
The day passed in triumph for Jakie, and in the evening 
he returned joyfully to his mother. On the next day, 
however, things did not progress so smoothly. On the 
evening of the day when Jakie had made his advent, 
Tommy Ransom had announced to his parents that there 
was a new scholar, named Jakie Hatton. His mother, 
Mrs. Ida Jane Ransom, had thereupon indignantly 
ordered him not to notice the little upstart ; and if the 
stranger ever presumed to notice him, for him. Tommy, 
to “up and tell him who he was.” Now Tommy Ransom, 
owing perhaps to the wealth of his father and the new seal- 
skin sacque of his mother, was held in great repute; and 
if he saw fit to call any child less favored by fortune, an 
epithet which reflected upon the good name of his mother, 
no one felt at liberty to resist it. Why should they? It 
was Tommy Ransom who said it, and a proud free 
American is occasionally found who will cringe a little 
before wealth. But no one must call Tommy that. He 
could use the epithet — ^which seemed to have a noble ring 
in the ears of the carefully reared pupils of the Boulder 
Creek school — as much as he liked, and could direct it to 
whom he pleased, and it had no sting, because Tommy 
Ransom, who wore a brown velvet suit and red embroidered 
stockings, said it. Boys might call other boys that, but it 
was understood throughout the school that that epithet was 
never to be applied to Tommy. Ike had specially in- 
structed Tommy that he was never to take that name off 
of any one. No man is more ready to fight, or to go to law 
about some insignificant slur upon his wife, mother, or 
sister, than he who had slurred or seduced his neighbor’s 
wife, mother, or sister. It makes no difference to him 
what becomes of his neighbor’s female relatives, provided 


THE EVIL WAYS OF THE HATTONS. 113 

his own are kept spotless, and he proposes to keep them 
so, if he can possibly spare time from the spoliation of his 
neighbor’s household to do so. 

Tommy Ransom was so confident of covering himself 
with glory in an engagement with Jakie Hatton that he 
could scarcely await the desired occasion. He was two 
years older than Jakie and some larger, and Jakie looked 
so weak, even if he was large for his age. Tommy finally 
succeeded in arranging his person so as to have it run 
against by Jakie, and then at last the occasion was there. 
He wheeled off and hurled his favorite epithet at Jakie 
with all the concentrated insult he could bundle into his 
tone. Jakie did not know what to do. fie had no idea 
of a fight, and since he had never had children for his 
companions, he did not know the meaning of the insult. 
But he had inherited a good share of independence, and 
the taunt in the tone aroused him. The idea of return- 
ing the compliment suggested itself, and he acted 
thereon. 

“You’re one yourself!” he shouted. 

Tommy’s home teaching rushed into his mind and 
the hot blood into his cheek. 

“I’m going to whale hell out of you, if you don’t 
take that back,” he shrieked, as he charged upon the 
doughty little fellow. He jerked off his coat and threw 
it over his shoulder to his group of seconds — for all the 
boys were his seconds — and then advanced with up- 
raised fist. Jakie received him with great coolness ^ he 
hardly understood what all this meant, but he saw dan- 
ger to himself in Tommy’s eye, and he remembered the 
excellent turns he had learned in the mimic fights with 
his father. He was wonderfully cool and collected. 

“ O, you want to wrastle do you ? ” he said, as Tommy 
advanced. “ Well, I know how, but just wait till I get 
my coat off ;” and he drew his coat and gave it a toss. He 
had already received one blow, and Tommy was squaring 
himself to give him another, already gloating over the ex- 
pectation of his easily- won victory. 

“I’m going to pound the life out of you!” yelled 
Tommy ; but when he went to sink his blow, he received 
one in the chest from he knew not where, which turned 
him heels over head. He did not understand this, and as 
he gathered himself up, he thought there must be some mis- 
take. So with anger and wonder high within him, he ad- 
8 


114 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


vanced upon the astonished Jakie, more impetuously and 
less judiciously than before. Then another mighty left- 
hander took effect in his side, and again he went heels 
over head. 

“Say now,” said Jakie, earnestly, “I’ve wrastled 
enough, and you’d better let me alone. You can’t wrastle, 
and I’m ’fraid I’ll hurt you.” The peeled face and bleed- 
ing nose of Tommy were good evidence that Jakie’s fears 
were well founded. But Tommy was not yet ready to 
accept the true diagnosis of the case. He could not but 
believe that Jakie’s success was accidental ; if he were to 
be vanquished, where was the good of his father being 
wealthy, or of his mother having a seal-skin sacque? He 
once more rallied to the charge. Jakie grew red in the 
face. 

“ Say, now, yow,” he said. “ You let me be ; you can’t 
wrastle, and you’ll get hurt,” and Jakie began to back off. 

“I’ll bust yer head wide open! ” screamed Tommy, as 
he rushed furiously up with both fists clenched and with 
blood and perspiration streaming from his face. But Jakie 
was quite as impregnable in his way as was the Macedo- 
nian Phalanx. He had received Tommy’s charge with 
comparative mildness before, but now he was getting tired 
of the affray, and he decided to bring it to a close. So he 
made a feint with his right hand, received Tommy on his 
left, and then brought back his right across Tommy’s ruf- 
fled waist, with a force that laid liim sick and white at the 
victor’s feet. 

“ Say now,” said Jakie, angrily, “ I want you to quit. 
Pa said he didn’t want me to wrastle at school.” 

“ I’m goin’ to tell the teacher on you, and I’ll tell Pa 
too,” sobbed Tommy, wdth a tone that proclaimed the 
battle ended. 

Of course, all the other boys, large and small, agreed to 
help tell the teacher; and Jakie, seeing that public opinion 
was against him, turned away, walked sullenly home, and 
gravely told his mother all about the boy who would 
wrastle when he didn’t want to. Tommy also hastened to 
tell his story in maternal ears. Mrs. Ransom had just re- 
turned from visiting in town, and was now turning away 
from the glass where she had been trying the effect of a 
different bonnet with her new sacque. Ike sat near by, 
looking half disgusted with the world in general, when 
Tommy rushed in, covered with dust and blood. 


THE EVIL WATS OF THE HATTONS. 115 

“ What’s the matter ? ” shrieked Ida Jane. 

“ AVhy, that Jake Hatton called me a nasty name, and 
then jumped onto me and licked me, and I never done a 
thing to him — not a thing ! ” 

“Oh dear,” moaned Ida Jane, “I was afraid that 
would be the way of it.” 

“Why didn’t you thrash him good?” blurted out Ike. 

“Why — I — did — have — a big notion to;” sobbed 
Tommy. 

“ Ike, I wish you’d go right over and see Frank Hat- 
ton, and make him cowhide that boy,” said the mother, as 
she began to wdpe away the dirt and gore. But Ike did 
not immediately answer. He was a brave and fearless 
man — not afraid of anything at all — ^but his mem- 
ory W'as exceedingly good. He remembered that once in 
the long ago he had had a little misunderstanding with 
Frank, and had come out of it somewhat worse for the 
wear. So he sat still and thouglit, and thought, and 
thought. Finally he said: 

“ I think, Ida, that so long as it’s only the children, that 
maybe you’d better go over and talk to her. The buggy 
is hitched up, and you can tell her that I’ll take Frank 
through the courts, and have that boy sent to the reform- 
school if he don’t behave himself.” 

Ida Jane was delighted. Of course she would have no 
trouble, and the visit would give her such an excellent 
opportunity to tell Sallie just what she thought of her. 
She could talk freely and unrestrainedly to Sallie, for she 
W'as a large, strong woman, w'hile Sallie was a thin little 
slip of a creature. Then she would wear her seal- skin 
sacque ; she would show Sallie the awful dignity of the 
pei son whom her son had assailed. So it happened that 
she knocked at Mrs. Hatton’s door just as Jakie was fin- 
ishing his sketch of the campaign. His report had been 
full, clear, and correct, and had occupied some time in the 
telling. Upon hearing the knock, Sallie opened the door 
and said simply : “ Good evening, Mrs. Ransom.” The 
two women knew each other by sight, but had never before 
spoken to each other. Mi*s. Ransom did not return the 
greeting. 

“Mrs. Hatton,” she said, severely, “your boy there, 
called my boy a nasty name and tlien beat him shame- 
fully.” 

• “ I didn’t do that way, Missus. Tour boy called 


116 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


that first, and then I told him he was one hisself, and he 
started the wrastlin*,” spoke up Jakie, vehemently. 

“ Be still, Jakie ; sit down, Mrs. Ransom,” said Sallie. 

“No; I won’t sit down here; Mr. Ransom says he’ll 
put your husband through the courts, and tliat he’ll send 
that boy to the reform-school if he don’t take that back.” 

“ I don’t believe that your husband will do anything of 
the sort, Mrs. Ransom, however much he may want to. 
I’m trying to raise that boy right. He doesn’t know any- 
thing about such talk as that, and never heard that name 
until your boy called him that to-night. Of course it was 
wrong in him even then, but he had just as good a right 
to say it as your boy had. Run out doors and play, 
Jakie.” 

Mrs. Ransom turned white. “ You don’t mean what 
you say, Sal Hatton,” she shrieked, losing her self-control. 
“You are what my boy said — if he did say it — and no- 
body can open their mouths to say a word against my 
character.” 

“If I am what you say, Jane,” said Sallie, quietly, 
“ Your husband is the dog that made me one. You can- 
not deny that.” 

“Why didn’t you take care of yourself then? You 
know men will fool girls if they get a chance.” 

“I know your man did; I know that he is a seducer 
and a liar.” 

“ Sal Hatton, I’ll mash your face ! ” 

“And here’s another thing, Jane,” went on Sallie, 
quietly; “ I have been a bad girl, I know, but I’ve 
changed my way of living, and after all, I’m not doing as 
badly as you are. I didn’t have to stoop in order to marry; 
I didn’t have to take a man worse than myself. My hus- 
band, faulty as he may have been, was honest — he was 
neither a seducer nor a liar. You have married a soul- 
less libertine, and have equalized yourself with him. You 
may be personally clean, but you do not love virtue ; your 
life proclaims that fact.” 

Ida Jane started forward in a frenzy and spat in Sadie’s 
face ; but before she could recover her equilibrium, Sallie 
gave her a fearful slap on one side of the face and then 
one on the other, to balance her up and keep her level on 
her feet. Then that the compliment might be fully 
returned, slie raised on tip-toe and spat upon the deli- 
cately tinted powder that covered the cheek of Ida Jane, 


tflE EVIL 'WAITS OF TIlE HATTONS. 


11 ? 


Sallie was very quick in her movements. Ida Jane saw 
that the tide of battle was turning against her, but she 
did not give up ; like her son she thought there must be 
some mistake. She reached for Sallie’s ear, but SalUe 
eluded her and ran into the pantry, from wliich she soon 
emerged with a basket of eggs, which she began to fire 
with wondeiful aim. And as egg after egg took effect 
upon that lovely seal-skin sacque, Ida Jane gave a last 
despairing wail, and fled. She climbed into the buggy 
and whipped the horse vehemently until well out of reach 
of the eggs. When she arrived at home and told her sad 
story, and helped the hired girl wash the seal-skin sacque 
with rain water and a soft cloth, and comb it with a fine- 
tooth comb, she felt that the rewards of virtue are indeed 
uncertain. And when Ike took down the family Bible to 
read the evening lesson, he selected that one containing 
the words, “ And I was envious of the foolish when I saw 
the prosperity of the wicked.” 

The next morning, after the school had been called to 
order, the young lady in charge was surprised to see at the 
open door, her new pupil in charge of an exceedingly well 
built, athletic young man. 

“ Good morning. Miss,” said the man, quietly. IVe 
brought my boy to school, and if it ain’t agin your rules 
I’d like to say a few words, and I’ll try to be decent about 
’em.” 

“ Certainly, Mr. Hatton,” said the teacher. 

‘‘Well, it’s this. My boy here had trouble with Ran- 
som’s boy on the road home last night, because Ransom’s 
boy called him a mean name and struck him. If it’s 
your rules to whip the boys for fightin’ why it’s all right, 
and I haven’t a word to say. I send my boy to school to 
learn, and to mind every word you say to him, and if he 
don’t mind you, why, it’s all right for you to make him 
mind ; and all I ask is that he has the same treatment as 
the rest. And now I want to say a word to these boys : 
my boy isn’t to blame for any misfortune he may have ; 
whoever is to blame, he isn’t, and I’ll not have anything 
throwed up to him. And if I hear of any little boy here 
throwing any thing up to my boy. I’ll see his father; and 
if I hear of any big boy trying it, I’ll see him. I don’t 
w^ant my boy to run over anybody, and I don’t intend any 
one to run over him. And for you, Miss Teacher, I’ll 
say that the boy has learned fast the two days he’s been 


118 


THE FATE Oi* A 1*001. 


here ; and more than that, he says you’re mighty kind and 
good to him. And I’ll say right here, that because you’ve 
been kind to that child, that other people think it’s smart 
to mistreat him for what he can’t help, that if the time ever 
comes that you’re hard up for friends, why all you’ll have 
to do is to come to Frank Hatton and his wife. Good 
morning. Miss.” And Frank made his bow and left the 
house. 

Jakie was treated wonderfully well after that ; respect 
for his father’s muscle did what paternal teaching failed to 
do for the pupils of the Bowlder Creek school — it caused 
them to be a little careful to whom they distributed their 
taunts. The teacher investigated the fight, and decided 
that since Tommy had been the aggressor that he needed 
the punishment which he had already received ; she there- 
fore resolved to do no whipping. The entire Ransom 
family had been pummelled by the Hatton family, and it 
is believed that it did them good. Tommy, at any rate, was 
much more respectful to his school-fellows afterward. 


CHAPTER XII. 

A FEMALE TRAMP. 

It has been hitherto stated that Gessia Solomon and 
Hetty Ann Bales occasionally called upon Sallie Hatton 
for a half hour’s chat. Of course, the neighbors were 
greatly scandalized and ‘‘ ’lowed that they wasn’t much 
ahead of Sallie ; ” but these two women, having lost what 
they most cared for in their own lives, disregarded the 
neighbors’ opinions. Ike Ransom had at one time felt it 
his duty to speak to John about this, but John had assm^ed 
him that although he deeply regretted it, that he could not 
prevent it, as Gessia was a perfect crank about some 
things, — had no moral perception whatever. 

Sallie was a very likable person ; she was kind-hearted 
and companionable, and never stooped to utter slander — 
she had received enough of that to understand its stings. 
Moreover, she made no effort to push herself into good 
society. She went occasionally to the houses of Gessia 


A FEMALE TBAMP. 


m 


and Hetty Ann, but she always selected hours when their 
husbands were apt to be away from the house. Aside from 
sympathy with her misfortunes, Gessia preferred her society 
to that of the ignorant, coarse-speaking women, who con- 
stituted the good society of the neighborhood; for to 
Gessia, a woman who forgot the duties and sweets of life 
to study only style, scandal, and lewd jokes was exceed- 
ingly repulsive. Sallie, on her part, was remarkably clean 
in her language. She recognized her period of sin as a 
fearful mistake, always to be thought upon with horror 
and tears. Of course, she could never undo it, but she 
would make the best possible use of that part of her life 
that remained. 

One Saturday afternoon, soon after Mr. De Kalb’s visit, 
Gessia and Hetty Ann sat in Sallie’s neat little sitting- 
room, wdiile little Henry played on the floor. Ralph had 
been given into the hands of Jakie, who speedily converted 
him into a horse, and succeeded after some persuasion in 
getting his whining transformed into a sort of snicker. The 
clothes-line was conjured into a harness and the tin wash- 
boiler made to serve as a wagon. The horse for a time 
became quite gay and kicked up his heels amazingly. 

The ladies had been discussing Mr. Blakesly : 

“Yes,” said Hetty Ann, ‘‘a great deal of the old 
man’s goodness comes from the fact that he’s allers 
watchin’ himself. He’s always lookin’ out for any little 
selfishnesses and meannesses that might take hold of him, 
and that’s why he keeps so clear of ’em. Now, if a per- 
son aims to git any ways near perfection, he’s got ter keep 
improvin’ himself as long as he lives. Whenever I see a 
man that has concluded that he’s about good enough for 
this world, I see a man that’s in danger. People are safe 
only when they’re movin’ onward ; if water stands still, it 
stagnates. Weeds have a way of growin’ a heap faster 
nor good garden truck, and if they ain’t kept pulled out 
they’ll choke up the garden and smother the truck ; and 
I’ve noticed that an old garden could git just as full of 
weeds as a young one too, if it ain’t watched. I’ve seen 
lots of people that, as soon as they were grown, thought 
they had aU the raisin’ they needed, and the idea that 
they ort to keep right pullin’ weeds out of their charac- 
ters, never occurred to ’em. They could see the weeds in 
other folks’ characters mighty plain, but law, not in their 
own. Now there’s one idea that ort to be kept growin’ in 


120 


THE EATE OF A FOOL. 


spite of weeds ; and that’s this — that other folks have the 
same rights and feelin’s that we have and that they’re 
liable to be pleased with the same kind of favors, and dis- 
pleased by the same kind of insults that we are. I’ve 
seen people that was alters raisin’ a fuss about their own 
rights, that couldn’t understand that other folks had a 
shadder of a right that they ort to respect. Now, there 
was Bill Prescott as was one of father’s neighbors ; he 
was the easiest offended man I ever see — he’d take offense 
when you meant nothing but kindness ; yet he wasn’t a 
mite particular how much nor how often he offended folks. 
His wife and his children and his niggers and his neigh- 
bors, all came in for a share of his meanness, but yet no- 
body must give him a sassy word. He seemed to carry 
his sensitiveness around to gauge the amount of meanness 
he dished out for other people. He went to town once 
and got drunk, and had to stay in jail all night, and after 
that I declare I thought he’d talk the neighborhood crazy 
about personal liberty ; yet he locked his wife up in the 
house once to keep her from going to see her mother that 
had beek tuck down with eyelisipelas ; and once he got mad 
at one of the niggers and kept him down cellar amongst 
the rats and the damp for four days, and didn’t give him 
nothin’ to eat but corn bread and water. Then Bill’s son, 
Eben, who was mighty like his father, used to be always 
blattin’ round about a feller maulin’ him in a fight, and I 
teU you he could talk mighty purty about the sacredness 
of the human person : and yet he was always ready, if he 
was a little mad, to knock one of his sisters down with a 
club, or to kick blazes out of some feller that hadn’t any 
muscle to speak of. I’ve found out that the average 
critters believe in safety and rights and good treatment 
and liberty for themselves ; and that as long as they git 
plenty of ’em, other folks can slide. But when they’ve 
had a few of their own blessin’s curtailed they sometimes 
git waked up a little — I’ve heered of wonderful changes 
cornin’ over people jest that way. When I used to read a 
good deal, which I ain’t done of late years, I got hold of 
a story of a Russian nobleman who was always sayin’ that 
he didn’t see why his serfs orter to be dissatisfied ; well bye- 
and-bye, he fell out with the Emperor, and got sent to 
Siberia for six years ; and after he came he seen things in 
a mighty sight different of light. He concluded that after 
all mebbe the serfs had cause for complaint, and then he 


A FEMALE TBAMP. 


121 


up and commenced to work for liberty for ’em. And I’ve 
often thought that these ’ere rich people that’s allers 
wonderin’ what the poor have to fret about, could be made 
to see things mighty differently by having to hustle for 
their grub a month or two. 

“ Then I’ve seen other people that couldn’t see the mis- 
ery and sufferin’ of their neighbors when it was stuck 
right under their noses — and like as not them partly to 
blame for it — that could cry their eyes nearly out over a 
ten cent novel that told about some fool girl that never did 
act like she was more’n half witted, or else about some 
murderin’ vilyan that was hung for killin’ more people 
than you could shake a stick at, but that made his peace 
witli the Lord, and got to be miglity good ’fore he died.” 

‘‘But, Mrs. Bales,” said Gessia, “what is to be done? 
People wonH see the rights of others. How is the matter 
to be helped ? 

“Well,” answered Hetty Ann; “I ’low that there 
ain’t much hope for some folks ; there’s some folks that 
won’t improve, no matter what happens ; they wa’n’t trained 
right when they was children and their selfishness won’t 
come out of ’em now. I’ve thought mighty often that if 
people only knew how to train their children — which lots 
of ’em don’t and never will — that this world would be a 
mighty sight better off. They’ll go on and make a heap 
of noise about somethin’ that don’t amount to a hill o’ 
beans, and then pass clear around some downright mean 
thing. Now, I’ve seen parents that would kick up sich a 
fuss about their children goin’ out to their neighbors and 
dancin’ a little, that you’d think all the commandments 
had been broken at once ; but if them same children would 
a cheated somebody out of half a dollar they’d a thought 
it smart. Now as fur as dancin’ is concerned, it ain’t a 
bit worse nor singin’. If you sing mean songs, and sing 
’em in mean company, they’re mighty bad ; and if you 
dance mean dances, and dance ’em in mean company, 
they're mighty bad ; but if you sing right and dance right, 
why the result’ll be all right. Dancin’ is to walkin’ what 
singin’ is to talkin’, and one ain’t a bit more harm than the 
other. I don’t approve of young people gettin’ together 
and singin’ all night — they’d tax their voices ; neither do 
I approve of ’em gettin’ together and dancin’ all night — 
they’d tax their strength. But to get together and sing 
or dance till ten or eleven, or at the most, twelve o’clock, 


1^2 


THE FATE OF A POOX. 


and then go liome and get some rest, no sensible person 
can object to ; and I think that if jest half the talkin' 
that parents do agin' dancin', was directed agin meanness 
and injustice to one another, and underhandedness and 
tellin' nasty jokes, that things would be a heap better for 
it. It’s jest as nateral for young people to want amuse- 
ment as 'tis for calves and colts to want to run and kick 
up their heels ; and if they can’t have a good time once 
in a while at home, or with their parents' consent, why 
they’ll go where they can get it, that’s all. If I had my 
way, the parents would go along to the dances, and if 
they was too pious to shake their foot, why they could at 
least sit up and talk and laugh. They’d be seein’ what 
sort o’ company their children was in, and not be actin’ as 
sentinels to keep ’em from havin’ a little fun. Then some 
folks that 'most faints at the mention of dancin’ will let 
their children play them nasty kissin’ plays, that one 
single one of ’em’U go further towards ruinin’ a young 
man’s taste for decency than a whole winter’s dancin’ 
would do. I believe a mighty sight of bad men get so 
jest from their parents actin’ like policemen to ’em ’stead 
of like companions. Children has got to be made to mind 
if they ever amount to anything, and the fact is most of 
’em ain’t made to mind well enough ; but there’s right ways 
and there’s wrong ways. People that can’t no more con- 
trol theirselves than they could a team of Numidian lions, 
will sometimes boss their young ones till they haven’t got 
the spirit of a rabbit for anything but somethin’ under- 
handed and sneakin’. Then some folks jest let their 
young ones go till they git a third grown ’fore ever they 
try to make ’em mind, and then when they try to break 
’em in, they find that the young ones has got about three 
times as much will-power as they have, and nearly as 
much bodily strength. All they can do then is jest to 
make the children hate ’em, and after that’s done, the pa- 
rent’s influence is gone. I tell you a mighty little tap 
given to a two-year old child, is worth more than half an 
hour’s whippin’ to a ten-year old boy. If children was 
never let get the start, they’d never have it ; and a parent 
needn’t be mean to ’em, either. They could be their com- 
panions and playfellows, and them they’d better be, but 
let ’em know all the time that they know w^hat’s best for 
’em and expect ’em to act accordin’ to it.” 

‘‘According to your way of t) linking, Mrs. Bales, it 


A FEMALE TRAMP. 123 

Would take nearly all of a mother’s time to train her chil- 
dren,” said Sallie. 

“ That it would, Miss Hatton,” answered Hetty Ann, 
“ that it would. Why if a mother trained a child into all it 
needed to know, she’d have mighty little time for runnin* 
around and spinnin’ yarns amongst the neighbors. I tell 
you it makes my flesh creep when I look at a passel of 
little children and think of the awful things that’s liable to 
happen to ’em from bad trainin’. A mother had better 
put fewer ruffles onto her children’s clothes, and give ’em 
less pie to eat, and save a little time to tell ’em how they 
ort to consider their neighbors’ rights as well as their own, 
and how they ort to be kind to them as is in trouble. A 
child ort to be taught that if its fun is injurin’ any human 
person or any dumb critter, that it ort to stop it. I’ve 
seen parents teach children religion without ever hintin’ 
justice and morality to ’em ; and as a consequence when 
the children grew up, they had considerable more religion 
than they had humanity. They could tell all about the 
conversion of Saul ; but however able they was to do it, 
their memory wan’t good about payin’ their debts. And 
I’ve noticed that it’s mighty often them that’s least capable 
to train children that has the most of ’em. They don’t 
seem to gauge the amount of their responsibility by their 
capacity to meet it. Then some folks go so much on out- 
side appearances that they teach their boys that if they 
can wear their hats on one side of their heads, and keep a 
cigar between their teeth from morning till night, that 
that’s all that’s needed to make manliness. And they 
teach their girls to choose their husbands for their clothes 
rather than for their characters, and to think that if they 
can get a blackleg that keeps his pants brushed and wears 
a canary neck-tie, and has a rich daddy, to be their hus- 
bands, that they’ve done better than if they’d got an 
honest man that wore a hickory shirt and worked for a 
living. If they don’t exactly teach ’em this, they let ’em 
learn it, and that’s jest as bad in the long run. 

“ Then I’ve knowed people to set their own young ones 
up agin their school-teachers, and other people’s up agin 
their step-mothers, and think they wastakin’the children’s 
part, when in reality they was jest teachin’ ’em defiance 
for law, and gettin’ ’em ready for the magistrates to handle. 
I tell you a child’s mind is miglity soft and yieldin’, and 
it’s allers ready to pick up a lesson, bad or good. I respect 


124 


THE EATE OP A POOt. 


a woman more that’ll let her dished go, and go out and 
play black man with her children, than I do one that does 
up her work ever so nice, and then talks ugly where her 
children can hear her.” 

Just here Hetty Ann’s remarks were interrupted by the 
appearance at the door, of a wretched creature wearing a 
faded silk dress that was both torn and dirty. Her eyes 
had a wild maniacal stare, and her face shone white and 
ghastly under the masses of dishevelled hair that fell about 
her shoulders. Her hat w^as crushed out of shape and her 
hands were bare ; her appearance was so frightful that all 
three of the women involuntary rose to their feet, and 
Sallie shrieked aloud. “Law! Law I Who be you, and 
what do ye want?” exclaimed Hetty Ann. The woman 
did not answer ; she looked in at them vacantly. Gessia 
advanced a step toward her and said, “ Do you want some- 
thing to eat ? ” But there came no answer. Sallie re- 
gained her courage and said : “ Come in and sit down, and I 
will bring you some dinner.” The woman at last found her 
voice. “ I am not hungry,” she said, “but I would like to sit 
down out of the sun.” She sat a few minutes with her rest- 
less eyes wandering first to one, and then to another of the 
startled group. The day was hot and the perspiration 
stood in beads upon her brow ; sudderdy her lips dark- 
ened, and she reeled and fell to the floor. The women 
flew to her and began the usual method of restoration, but 
after half an hour’s work succeeded only in bringing back 
a regular breathing. The stranger lay with her eyes 
closed and with a faint and irregular pulsation in her thin 
wrist. Sallie and her guests put her to bed, bathed her, 
dressed her in a snowy night dress, and smoothed out and 
braided her long, dark hair. 

“ Law now, she’s been pretty ! ” exclaimed Hetty Ann, 
as she stood away and looked at her. “ I wonder who 
she is ? ” 

‘‘I know,” said Sally, with a torrent of tears. 

“ Who ? ” asked Hetty Ann. 

“ I do not know her name,” said Sallie, “but I know 
her history ; it is written in her face.” 

“ Will you let her stay here? ” asked Gessia. 

^ “ Yes,” said Sallie. “ She shall stay as long as she 
likes. Gessia and Hetty Ann busied themselves to make 
things as comfortable as possible about the stranger until 
sundown, when they both withdrew, promising to come again 


THE FATE OF k FOOL. 


125 


in the morning. The woman slept heavily all night and 
with the first light of morning awakened. 

“Have I stayed here all night ! ” she asked of Sallie, 
who was standing watching her. 

“ Yes/^ answered Sallie, “ and you shall stay as long as 
you like. Will you have your breakfast now ? ** 

“ I thank you. You are a real woman,” was the an- 
swer; “but I cannot eat. There is something I want to 
tell you, and then you may not want me in your house ; I 
am a bad woman.” 

“It is all right,” said Sallie, with tears streaming down 
her face. “You shall stay.” 

“ The world isn’t quite so bad as I thought it — it lias 
one merciful heart in it at least,” said the woman. 

“ It has more than that : there will soon be good friends 
here to help nurse you ; now let me get you some toast and 
eggs.” 

“ No ; thank you. I cannot eat,” said the woman, as 
she dropped back on her pillow. She soon slept heavily, 
and Sallie attended to her morning duties. Frank had 
such great faith in the Blakeslys that he proposed to start 
for them at once, and at the same time bring out a physi- 
cian. Sallie went to the bed- room and aroused the 
woman. “ I am going to send for a doctor,” she said ; 
but the woman did not understand ; she relapsed into her 
heavy sleep. 

By ten o’clock the Blakeslys and the doctor entered the 
room, where Hetty Ann, Gessia, and Sallie were attending 
the stranger. The latter had awakened and lay white 
and still. The doctor’s examination and report were alike 
brief ; she was suffering from exhaustion and exposure to 
the heat, and there vras little hope of her recovery. He 
left a few simple remedies, and took his departure. 

Sallie advanced and smoothed her guest’s pillow. “Here 
are a good man and woman that helped me a great deal ; 
and now they have come to talk to you,” she said as she 
propped the stranger’s head up with pillows. 

The Blakeslys came forward and shook hands. “ My 
sister, ” said Mrs. Blakesly, as if she were talking to a 
confidential friend, “ I am sorry to see you sick. I hope 
that the pure morning air will help you.” Tears flowed 
down the woman’s cheek ; all the women sobbed, and Jakie 
cried because his mother did. “Would you like to talk? 
continued the pastor’s wife, 


126 


THE FATE OP A FOOL, 


Yes,” said the woman, if my . strength holds out, I 
wish to talk — to tell my story. Please raise my head a 
little more.” And then with the return of strength that 
so often precedes dissolution, she began : 


CHAPTER XIIL 

THE STORY OP EMILY SPANGLER. 

‘‘My name,” she said, “is Emily Spangler. I was 
raised in the country, in New York State, but when my 
education was far enough advanced my mother sent me to 
a large town to graduate. I worked for my board, and 
studied so hard that I took class honors. Mother was a 
widow and poor, and it took all we could raise to pay for 
my books and outfit ; so after it was over we had to be 
extra careful, as the rent was back on mother’s house, and 
one of the cows unpaid for. I intended to teach, but the 
schools did not last through the summer, so we had to do 
the best we could till fall. We made a good deal of but- 
ter, but it was so plentiful that season that the price -was 
low. I was not ashamed to sell butter, but I did not like 
to take less than it was worth. So one day when I was in 
a store in town, trying to dispose of an eight-pound lot, I 
grumbled because the price was so low. The man offered 
me only twelve and one-half cents a pound for it, and our 
butter was extra nice. I had seen a young man and a 
middle aged woman talking together in the back of the 
store, and presently the woman came forward and asked to 
look at the butter. She pronounced it fine, and said that 
if I’d go to her house with her to get the money, that she’d 
give me tw^enty cents a pound for it. Then she called to the 
man she had been talking to, and told me that there was a 
young man that would carry the pail for me, and I could 
walk along with her and be saved all trouble. She was a 
nice looking woman, and of course I didn’t think of danger. 
I walked along wdth her, and the grocer, who must have 
knowm her, never said a word. We came to a nice house, 
and she left me in a splendidly furnished parlor a few 
minutes. Then she came in and told me in a very friendly 
manner that her money was upstairs, and that if I liked to 


THE STORY OF EMILY SPANGLER. 


127 


walk along up, that it would give me a chance to get a fine 
view of the city. We went up a broad stairway, then into 
a hall, and from that into a small room. It had only one 
window, and that one was covered with a heavy shutter, 
and although it was day time the room would have been 
quite dark but for a light in a lamp which hung from the 
high ceiling. I learned afterward that the window opened 
into a court on the roof and that it had another shutter on 
the outside so that there was not the slightest chance for 
the sound of a scream to reach the street. Before I had 
had time to look around me, I noticed that the woman had 
slipped out of the room, and that the man who had carried 
my pail was in the room locking the door. 

ic i Why did that wmman go away ? ’ I asked quickly, for 
I began to be frightened. ‘ She left you to me/ he said, 
with the most devilish smile I ever saw. I used to 
imagine that fiends smiled like that. Then he went on to 
tell me what kind of a house I was in, and promised me 
that if I’d give up to the first man they sent into the room 
that I should have a lot of money and be treated well ; but 
that if I refused, I would have to give up to him. I told 
him that I’d die before I gave up to any man, and I 
snatched up a chair and struck at the lamp, and told him 
that I’d bum us both up ; but he caught the chair and 
wrested it away from me so furiously that he lamed my 
wrist so I couldn’t use my hand for days. I prayed aloud 
to God to protect me, and because he did not, I have 
cursed him ever since. I believe that the Devil has a 
thousand empires of power where God has one. I lay on 
the floor in that room all night ; it was dark, for he put 
out the light when he left me, and I was glad of it; I felt 
as if I never wanted to see light again. I sobbed and 
cursed all night and all the morning of the next day. I 
refused to eat a bite they brought me, and I wouldn’t have 
taken so much as a drink of water to save my life. And in 
the morning that dog came to my room, where I was 
locked in like a felon in a cell, and opened my door and 
taunted me with what I was, and laughed at my sobs. 
But about noon some one came and unlocked my door and 
came softly in ; it was a woman, and she was crying. She 
came up and laid her hand on my head and broke out 
crying afresh ; she whispered to me to be very quiet and 
she would save me. She had some clothing on her arm, 
and she told me to change mine for that. She said ; 


128 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


“‘I have heard all about you from the mistress, and you 
are not to blame for what has happened ; but this is a 
dog’s life, and don’t you consent to live it. I am here 
against my will, but everybody knows me, and it’s too late 
for me to change. Every man in town knows who 1 am, 
and my shame ^\’ill follow me always. But you can go 
back to your mother, and maybe you can get evidence 
enough to prosecute. Put on these things and tie a veil 
over your face, and I’ll make them think you are one of 
the girls until we get into the street, and then you are 
safe.’ And when she laid out the things, hope came back 
to me, and I was soon dressed. I threw my arms around 
her and thanked her, and then we left the room and walked 
along the hall to the head of the stairs. But just as we 
got there, there was that wTetch coming up. ‘ Who is 
that with you. Hat?’ he asked, savagely. 

“ ‘ It’s Kitty,’ she said, quietly. ‘ Her eyes are weak, 
you know, so I told her to tie a veil over her face. We 
are going walking ; won’t you come along ? ’ 

“ ‘ Hat Duggan ! ’ he shrieked ; ‘ you’re a d — d 

liar ! That’s the new girl you’re trying to sneak off. I 
can see through your tricks ! ’ 

“ ‘ Run for the street ! ’ whispered Hat to me. But he 
jerked me back and raised his hand and struck her — I saw 
liim do it — he struck her on the head, and she reeled and 
fell, and rolled to the bottom of the stairs, and lay at the 
foot of the staircase with her face all cut and bleeding. I 
turned my face away, for the sight made me sick ; but he 
caught me by the shoulders and wheeled me round, and 
told me to look and remember w^ell, for that was what I’d 
get if I didn’t behave myself. Then he dragged me back 
to the room, and cuffed me about, and tried to make me 
drink some wine and eat some food ; but I would not, and 
told him that I’d starve myself. He cursed me and went 
down stairs then, and I was left alone for a while. But 
pretty soon the mistress came up and brought some food, 
and told me that if I was determined not to live that way, 
that she would let me off. She said for me to eat something, 
so I’d have strength to walk, and she’d take me outside the 
city limits in her carriage, and then I could get out and go 
home. I believed her, so I ate some food, and then 
combed my hair and arranged my dress. But I was 
beginning to feel sleepy, and I told her so. She told me to 
get my hat on and be ready to drive, and then she left me. 


THE STORY OF EMILY SFANGLER. 129 

After slie went away I got so sleepy tliat I had to walk 
the floor and slap my face to keep awake ; and though I 
couldn’t think much, I began to suspect that she’d tricked 
me and put some drug in my food. When I thought of 
that, I tried harder than ever to keep awake; I had 
almost given up when the door opened, and three young 
men came into the room. They were well dressed, but 
tlieir clothes showed that they had been on a long debauch. 
The very air was dreadful with the fumes of liquor from 
their breath. I began to scream, and then they laughed 
aloud, and as the full horror and hopelessness of my 
position came over me my senses left me. I was abused 
horribly all night, and by morning I’d lost my self-respect. 
1 saw that the world was all against me, and that the 
Devil had me and was marching me straight off to Hell. 
It was too late to save my honor, so I ate my breakfast 
when it w^as sent up to me, and then I tried to think. 
Then the wretch that helped trick me into coming there, 
came up, and some of my independence came back. 

“ ‘ Do you belong to this house ? ’ I asked. 

‘‘ ‘ Yes? ’ he answered ; ‘ I tend to getting girls for the 
house, and I tend bar and so on.’ 

“ ‘Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? ’ I asked. ‘ Why can’t 
you be respectable ? ’ 

“ ‘ Respectable ? ’ he said, and then he laughed loud and 
long. ‘ Why girl,’ he said, ‘ it’s the respectable young men 
that keep the business up. If it wasn’t for them we wouldn’t 
have to set traps for pretty, dainty creatures like yourself. 
Take the toughs now, and they’re satisfied wdth anything ; 
but your respectable fellows demand new, fresh girls, that 
haven’t been in use long, and we’ve got to supply ^em or 
lose trade.’ 

“ That house was in a city that boasted its large number of 
elegant churches, and many of the members of the board of 
alderman who licensed it, were Christians. They say they 
license them for the protection of women. It is just as 
reasonable to talk about setting a wheat field on fire to 
protect it from the drouth. Men encourage their vicious 
nature at such places till they are w^orse than wild beasts ; 
and the more chance there is for such indulgence the more 
unsafe women will be. Every art of force, trickery, and 
lying, that can escape the almost worthless laws on the sub- 
ject, are employed to keep these houses full of women, and 
the Christian signs his name to the brothel license, and 
9 


130 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


before his pen is dry, he writes an affectionate letter to his 
own carefully-shielded daughter. 

“ Well, I stayed on. Finally they’d let me go out to 
walk ; but it was written in my face what I was, and line 
ladies would hold their dresses away from me, as if my 
touch was poison. And many a time I have met young 
men that visited me regularly, walking with nice ladies, 
and of course they wouldn’t notice me. Oh, it seems un- 
just ; I cannot see why, even if I had sinned willingly, 
that I was worse than they, and yet I never, never sinned 
willingly, never. People might say I did sin willingly, 
because I gave up, and let things take their course ; but it 
was not so ; I was ruined, and I had to take to that life 
or kill myself, and I couldn’t do that, with the shame on 
me. Those young men called themselves honorable, but I 
am branded with a stain that all the rivers of earth can 
not wash away. I have heard preachers talk about the 
justice of God, and say that punishment came only to 
those who in some way invited it. It is mockery. Was 
I to blame because God made me weak, and then refused 
to protect me ? Was I to blame because I could not resist 
that man’s brutal strength? Was I to blame because I 
wanted to sell that butter to help pay mother’s rent? 
Poor dear mother ! I never heard of her again. I couldn’t 
face her or let her know, and I hope she died supposing 
me dead. Yes, the greatest comfort I could have, would 
be to know that she is dead and out of this hellish world. 

Finally I came out here, and got work, and decided to 
change my ways ; but it got noised abroad what I was, and 
I lost my place, and had to go back. I have been in one 
of the houses in Cedar Ridge ten months ; and during that 
time I’ve drugged myself twice to put end to my miserable 
life ; but both times they came to my room and unlocked 
the door, for the mistress always kept duplicate keys ; they 
dragged me out of the room, took me to the ball-room of 
the house, and walked me up and down the floor, and 
whipped me with a buggy whip to get me out of the stupor ; 
and young society men, who came regularly to see me, 
would stand by and laugh and shout to the bartender who 
was whipping me : 

“ ‘ Lay it on to her, Doc ; we can’t spare her yet.’ I 
asked Doc once, after they’d brought me out of a stupor, 
what he thought I wanted >to live for, and he swore fear- 
fully, and said that he’d just see that I didn’t die — that 


THE STORY OF EMILY SPANGLER. 131 

girls were too scarce in the mining camps, and the demand 
too great to spare a single one. The other day I wandered 
away resolved to die in the hills, but by some chance — I 
know not what — I arrived at this house. 

“It was the will of God and not chance, my sister, that 
directed you here, M^here this loving woman waited to 
receive you,” said the minister, as the tears flowed down 
his cheeks. “ Let us pray for the peace that He giveth to 
His beloved.” 

“ The peace you speak of will never come to me in this 
world,” she said, “and I do not expect it in another. 
All my life I have heard of justice and of the rewards of 
virtue, and yet I have met only injustice, insult, outrage, 
and hopeless misery. If the same beings — one class who 
abandon and another who destroy — who dwell upon earth 
are to inhabit heaven, I can hope for nothing better there. 
They call this the land of the free and the home of the 
brave,’^ she said, with bitter emphasis, “ and yet in this 
country that boasts its liberty, its justice, its gallantry, and 
its equitable laws, when I raised my voice for help, in a 
house licensed and sanctioned by law, I found not an ear 
to give a pitying hearing to my cry, and not a hand raised 
to save or to protect. To dozens of men who have visited 
me and tortured me with their foul, hated love, I have told 
my story, and each and every one of them laughed at me, 
and said that every old hussy had some pitiful tale to tell. 
And I suppose that if their country had been in danger, 
that nearly every one of those young men would have risen 
like firebrands, to burn out and destroy her enemies ; but 
their countrywomen, writhing in forced shame, and crushed 
under the feet of social despots, must cry to deaf ears. 
Many men to whom I have told my story, have taunted 
me, and said that women like this life, and would not leave 
it if they could. I have seen a few women that did. There 
are natural female criminals as well as natural male crimi- 
nals, and I cannot see why one class is better than the 
other. But the majority of them came from the ordinary 
walks of life, and fell, not from love of sin, but from too 
much love of the unfaitliful, and too little moral courage. 
Talk about women of even ordinary refinement liking 
brutal familiarity, coarse contempt, and open scorn ! I 
have talked with hundreds of these women, and nearly all 
of them became bad from lies, de'ceit, or force ; and all but 
the coarsest ones would leave the life for any honest employ- 


132 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


ment if they could get it ; and if they could not get work they 
would leave it for the grave if they dared. And this last is 
generally what they come to — for worn out with shame, 
and hopelessness, and despair, and taunted to desperation 
by the brutal jests and the foul names their tyrants hurl at 
them, they at last almost invariably suicide. I have seen 
little girls from twelve to fifteen years of age, coaxed and 
tricked into those houses, and have seen them dragged out 
and buried in nameless graves before they were eighteen — 
dead of shame, abuse, and disease, before they had reached 
the legal age of acting for themselves. This is how the 
beneficent law protects the women and children of the 
republic. 

“ I have argued with young men on this matter, and they 
say that w^ere it not for the houses of ill repute they would 
have no amusement. Have the arts by which the ancient 
Greeks maintained their bodily strength lost their attrac- 
tion ? Must leaping, wrestling, racing, and fencing — 
amusements that make bodies strong — be forgotten for 
vices that weaken and destroy them ? Have music, arclii- 
tecture, the rare cunning of mechanics, painting, rhetoric, 
oratory, skill in gunning or archery, rowing, and the thou- 
sand generous delights of the hand and mind, to yield 
their excellence to an unnecessary and weakening vice ? 
I have studied science, and I believe that a trait can be 
bred out of, or into, a race or class ; I fear that our much- 
lauded Republic is breeding into her citizens that which 
will be her destruction. All that humanity has to depend 
on as a source of noble citizens is its homes, and these are 
fast becoming tainted with this national evil. But why 
should I worry, why should I shed these tears over a 
country that has refused me protection ? That openly 
approves the licensing of houses for the continuance of 
my shame ? Alas, there is no hope ! The grave is almost 
ready and I wish that I were there asleep.” 

She leaned back on her pillow ; her eyes were open and 
staring wildly. Mr. Blakesly came forward, with hands 
clenched and face contorted. 

My sister, ” he said, “ the hand of affliction has in- 
deed been heavy upon you, but the hour of your release is 
near at hand. Let us pray.” 

“ No,” she answered quietly ; ‘‘ I will not pray. I 
called on the Lord to save me from being a thing of scorn, 
and he would not. His ears are deaf when I cry, and I 


THE STORY OF EMILY SPANGLER. 


183 


will trouble him no more. Young men who have added 
to my list of shame, and who have laughed my story to 
scorn, have reformed, joined the church, and some of 
them have become leading members ; let them pray and 
let him listen. He has long ago given me over to ruin 
and despair and I will not ask him for the protection he 
has so long denied.*’ 

“ Oh dear, dear sister ! ” wailed the minister, as he 
wrung his great hands, “ Look up ! look up ! the ways of 
Providence are too dark and too mysterious for us to un- 
derstand them. The burden of sorrow which has crushed 
you here, may entitle you to a seat on the right hand of 
God, and to wear a crown resplendent with the jewels of 
truth. We can not always see the outcome of the sorrow 
that is forced upon us. You refuse to pray because you 
say you distrust God; but it is not so. Your distrust is 
only for the shallow, unfeeling God, that is preached by 
this shallow, unfeeling age. It is loatliing for the Chris- 
tian who signs his name to a license for a brothel ; it 
is scorn for the sons of Christian mothers, who helped to 
sink your good name ; it is contempt for the social status 
that forgives the strong and crushes the weak. But that 
very hatred of wrong and injustice is in itself veneration 
for the Most High God ; it is impossible for you to blas- 
pheme while such divine sentiments are regnant in your 
heart ; it takes infinitely more than words to show the love 
or hatred of the Almighty One. 

Humanity is a fearfully slow growth, and a man who has 
not been led in ways of righteousness is far more danger- 
ous than a wild beast ; for he has reason with which to 
plan horrible deeds, and hands to assist in their execution. 
Humanity has just now reached tlie point where reason is 
wrestling to gain a balance of power with physical 
strength ; where justice is battling with the customs of 
ages. Many of my fellow ministers are no longer serving 
God by laboring for his creatures ; they are toadying to 
wealth and power instead of battling for souls. While 
they, with cold words, are painting the crucifixion of one 
who labored among the humble, they forget tiiat humanity 
is now struggling upon the cross, and crying wildly for 
succor. They forget that power and strength are driving 
nails into the bleeding hands and lashing the writhing 
bodies with thongs. The ears of power are deaf to the 
shrieks of despair, and madly he gloats over the enjoy- 


134 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


ment he wrings from the shamed, suffering, dying op- 
pressed. But though he is blind to suffering and deaf to 
groans, yet there is one who sees and hears ; the God of 
improvement, the Lord of justice, who was mighty enough 
to keep the earth whirling through space until shapeless 
little masses of nerves and watery flesh, floating aimlessly, 
yet wondrously guided through the waste of waters, be- 
came men endowed with reason and thought — he hears 
every cry, and sees the shedding of every drop of innocent 
blood. He does not attempt the jugglery of changing the 
good into the bad or the bad into the good ; his creatures 
have improved themselves from mere bones and flesh to 
temples of intelligence ; but because such vast works must 
of necessity go on slowly, we lose hope and say that men 
have ceased to improve — ^that they will never entirely lose 
the characteristics that dwelt in their ancestors, when they 
devoured and destroyed, and made the primeval forests 
dismal with their tyranny. But largely by their own bru- 
tality have they educated themselves out of their brutal- 
ity ; for the better ones among them looked upon horrible 
things and said : ‘ This is wrong ; it is unjust to others.* 

And they found sympathizers — few at first, but more as 
time rolled on, until there were enough to put down the 
wrong which had attracted attention. And when this 
work goes on too slowly. He says, ‘ improve,’ and at once 
arises a teacher, who, filled with the thouglits of God, 
leads his creatures onward. And when at last shall come 
God’s age of peace and justice, which shall only be brought 
about by the creatures whom he bids improve themselves, 
it will be found that the stake, the cross, and the shackle 
will have done their part ; not because — as the bigoted and 
blinded tyrants who employed them supposed — they ridded 
the earth of heretics, but because they exalted martyrs, 
who earned for humanity freedom of conscience and free- 
dom of speech. And the martyrs thus exalted gave to 
posterity examples of lofty courage, heroism under trial, 
and fortitude in standing by the right, that are brighter 
than the flame of fagots, higher than the loftiest cross, and 
more enduring than the iron shackle. Posterity has glor- 
ified them, and has given them sweet revenge over the cal- 
lous brutes who made them suffer. 

‘‘ The cry of the helpless, though all around seem deaf, 
is never lost ; though it fall upon desert sands, my God 
will take it up and waft it to some pitying heart, which 


THE STORY OF EMILY SPANGLER. 135 

will, in its turn, cry out, until the echoes waken a legion 
for the defense of right. Men have dropped unknown 
into the nameless graves of a thousand battles, knowing 
that no monuments would rise and no songs be sung to 
their memory, merely that their own or their neighbors^ 
children, might breathe a little more of the air of freedom. 
In this battle with the world you have gone down, and 
your victors are shouting and exultant ; but your story, 
told even in these few ears, may echo and re-echo until it 
becomes a thunder-peal to blast the designs of the brutal 
strong, and cheer on tlie hearts of the fainting weak. 
That echo may yet sound until it instigates the enactment 
of laws that will render woman safe and men pure. It may 
yet stir the waves of public opinion until they become too 
hot to hold alive such villains as you have described. As 
for the Christian council you mentioned, and the indiffer- 
ence of churches, I have tliis to say: Thousands of min- 
isters had far rather argue over a creed than save a soul. 
And what is creed ? It is merely a network of confusion 
held before our eyes to blind us to our duty, and make us 
forget the cry of the helpless. Is the Lord, ray God, in 
need of my labor to protect his holy name ? Ah, no. He 
is great enough and glorious enough to protect himself! 
But I am his servant, and his creatures need my ministra- 
tions. If I refuse to listen to their cry that I may have more 
time to praise my Master, I am like the general who sits in 
his tent, praising the name of his country, while the battle is 
being lost. When I see a man who is toiling for the children 
of my Master, I know he is the servant of the true God, and 
I will give him my hand and call him brother, even if he 
bow down to an image of stone. There is but one true 
God, and he is the God of love and pity, and the Lord of 
justice ; and what does it matter by what name his ser- 
vants call him, so long as they, like Jesus of Nazareth, 
toil for the children of their Master in heaven? 

“ Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself,’^ said the old 
man, as he stretched out his great hands, and raised his 
streaming eyes. “ Oh, if all the Christian ministers, from 
the time of the Redeemer until now, had preached and 
studied that one text instead of wrangling about creed, all 
the fagots that have consumed the bodies of saints would 
have burned only to warm the chilled limbs of the poor ; 
all the ovens that destroyed the hapless Vandois would 
have baked bread for the hungry ; all the prisons would 


136 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


have been homes ; the swords and armor would have been 
instruments of tillage ; and all the shamed, lost women, 
would have been loved wives, clasping little prattling 
babes in their arms. The echo of your story may yet be 
as a mighty battle-cry in the war which is to be fought — 
the war that will surely be waged for the sanctity of the 
home. Again, I beg you, let us pray. Let us beseech 
the God of advancement that he once more say unto his 
creatures, ‘Advance.’” 

The tramp upon the bed was rapidly sinking; she 
moved her purple lips and said simply, “ Pray ; ” and amid 
the groans of the brute, the bitter tears of the strumpet, 
the agony of the crank’s wife, the silent weeping of the fogy, 
and the wild sobs of the fool, there arose from the lips of 
the crank, a heart-felt prayer for wronged, suffering human- 
ity. And when it was over, it was found that the angel of 
death, unafraid of soiling his white pinions in such company, 
had entered, and had unlocked the prison doors that held 
captive the soul of Emily Spangler ; and the white face, 
with its record of wrongs, insults and sad indignities, 
took on the settled calm of endless peace. 

Had the assemblage that gathered round the dead been 
composed of cool-headed, sensible people, they would of 
course have seen the necessity of what had passed ; they 
would have recognized the demands and needs of a broad, 
generous civilization, and would have ceased to worry 
about the matter. But being a set of blinded, fanatical 
and unreasonable cranks, they failed to see any necessity 
about it, and declared the whole affair to be an outrage. 
They shed many a tear over the still clay, and the women 
tenderly arrayed it for the grave. Sallie contributed 
snowy underclothing, Gessia brought a white dress, and 
Hetty Ann, with her face bathed in tears for the death of 
fond hopes, took from a little box in an old leather trunk, the 
white silk gloves, and the lace she had worn at her wedding. 
They were white no longer — they were yellow with time, 
but were scrupulously clean, and gave a sweet perfume 
from the herbs that for years had been folded into them 
to keep out the moths. She carefully shook out the 
little bits of leaves from their folds, and tenderly ar- 
ranged them upon the bride of death. Frank purchased a 
plain coffin ; and in the early morning of the next day, 
while the breeze from the hills was cool and sweet, Frank 
and his hired man lifted the coffin into the farm wagon, 


THE STORY OP EMILY SPANGLER. 


137 


and with the hired man driving, the little procession 
started for the city cemetery. Frank, Sallie, and Gessia 
followed in the spring-wagon. The Hattons did not wish 
their boy to learn of shame and sorrow so early in liis life ; 
so when the woman had begun to tell her sad story he 
had been sent out to take little Ralph Solomon for a walk 
among the plum-trees ; and upon the day of the funeral, as 
that took place upon Monday, he had been sent to school. 
Tlie Blakeslys joined the group at town ; they occupied 
the back seat of the spring-wagon. There was a good 
deal of amusement among the citizens of Milroy City as 
the little procession passed through the streets, as it 
must do to reach the cemetery. A great majority of the 
loungers had heard the woman’s story, as Mr. Blakesly 
had rehearsed it to some of the members of his church 
the day before in an effort to get a few contributions to 
help Frank pay for the coffin, in which he was of course 
unsuccessful. He offered some of the money that was to buy 
his winter coat, but Frank explained that he was doing well, 
and needed no help. There was also a good deal of indig- 
nation when the face of Mrs. John Solomon was recog- 
nized. Several men confidentially informed their friends 
that they would make a wife leave home for doing such a 
thing. The idea of a woman who had any self-respect, 
and who was the wife of a respectable man, sitting along- 
side of that Hatton woman, going to a grave-yard to help 

bury another . The idea of a woman having no 

more sense than to believe the story that such a thing 
would tell! They’d show her, d — n her. John Sol- 
omon hadn’t any spunk, to let a woman run over 
him like that. To be sure, there had been a slight tem- 
pest in the Solomon household concerning the attendance 
at this same burial. Upon the evening after the death, Ges- 
sia had told John the woman’s story, and had detailed the 
arrangements for the burial. John had looked anxiously 
at her, and said : “ You won’t go, will you, Gessia ? ” 

“Yes, John, it is my intention,” she said, quietly. 

“ 0 Gessia, you are getting so you have no judgment 
at all ; the chances are that the woman lied to you ; but 
even if she did not, and was really wronged, why, after all, 
she was a fallen woman, and you’ll be talked about if you 
go to see her buried.” 

“ I do not care who talks nor how much they talk,” 


THE FATE OP A FOOt. 


-138 

said the wife, quietly ; “ I have learned to care more for 
humanity than for society.** 

“What will you do with the children?** 

“ I can take them along.** 

“No, leave them with me. I will take care of them. I 
do not want it thrown up to them that they went to see 
such a woman buried.’* 

Gessia turned toward him as if she intended to speak, 
but her lips remained unmoved. She could not under- 
stand such feelings as this man had. The truth was that 
both of them were mistaken in their estimates of each 
other’s characteristics; at the time of their marriage, John 
had believed that Gessia was an ordinary woman, and 
Gessia had believed that John was an extraordinary man. 
Such mistakes are very serious ones. 

John withdrew his spoken opposition to Gessia’s attend- 
ance at the burial, rather than discuss the topic which 
seemed somehow to have lost some of its attractiveness ; 
but he was very angry. He kept the children at home 
and remained in a gloomy humor all the forenoon. 

Emily Spangler w^as buried “with the county.” Frank 
placed at the head of the mound a little wooden tablet 
upon which Gessia wrote with pencil the name, date, and 
a sweet verse of her own making. This tablet soon dis- 
appeared ; the mound sunk to a level with the surround- 
ing ground, and as time rolled on the little clumps of 
gamar-grass grew and flourished. But in another quar- 
ter of the same inclosure arose an elegant double monu- 
ment to a father and son who had amassed a large fortune 
keeping a dance-house. 

The cause of Hetty Ann Bales’s absence from the fu- 
neral was the declaration on the part of Josiah, that if she 
did go, he would kick her out of the house and see that 
she never came in it again ; which every one will admit 
was strong argument in favor of absenting herself. 

The neighbors sadly shook their heads, and voted that 
it was all very bad ; they had thought that “ mebbe Sally 
was tryin* to do better, but when she took that old hussy 
in, and let her stay there till she died, and waited on her 
like she was a lady, it looked like she hadn’t changed 
much. And it looked like John Solomon’s wife wasn’t 
much better ; she was there, helpin’ round, and then rode 
in the same seat with Sallie goin’ to tlie grave-yard. 
And old Miss Bales — ^but then she was nobody, anyhow. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


A HOME-COMING. 

Gessia returned from the funeral a little before noon; 
the sun had been hot, and she was weary and dejected. 
The little boys ran to her as if a prison liad opened for 
their release, dancing about her and climbing upon her lap 
as soon as she was seated. She kissed and petted them, 
and then after a few minutes put them down to begin her 
preparations for dinner. John sat with a heavy cloud on 
his face, and answered his wife’s remarks in a decidedly 
surly manner. 

1 think, Gessia, that when you come to think over 
what you’ve done, that even you will be sorry,” he said at 
last. 

“Why, John?” she asked, quietly. 

“ Why, even if all she said was true, even then she’s 
got a bad name, and people will talk about you in a way 
that you know nothing about, for going to that funeral. 
1 wouldn’t have had it happen for anything. The idea of 

people throwing up to me that my wife went to see a 

buried.” 

Gessia gave an agonized scream; “I have read,” she 
began, as soon as she could control her voice, “ how the 
Romans used every art of trickery and force to bring 
weaker nations into subjection ; and when they had suc- 
ceeded, and their captives were completely crushed and 
bowed under the yoke, they completed their tyranny by 
taunting their helpless victims with the name of slave. 
It is just so men treat us. They use the arts of trickery, 
deception, endearment, flattery, or force, to accomplish our 
ruin, and then after their devilish work is done they hiss 
in our ears a far worse name than slave.” 

“ Oh, well, Gessia, you won’t admit that hardly any 
women are bad of themselves.” 

“I do admit it. While there are such fathers for them 
it is wonderful that so many have escaped inheriting those 
traits as have.” 

“Oh yes, you will go on about men. You won’t reason. 
Now take a good woman — one that is really good — and 
she is better than a good man ; but a really bad woman is 
worse than the worst man.” 

“It is false ! It is another of the old flimsy declara- 

139 


140 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


tions which you hurl at us, and in which you put a com- 
pliment for the purpose of hiding a sting. It is a slander 
upon reason and an outrage upon truth. Does nature 
deal in jugglers’ tricks that she creates beings of the same 
parentage who, upon the simple difference of sex, act upon 
totally different principles and answer to totally different 
laws ? Is it any less of a juggler’s trick for her to pro- 
duce creatures of the same sex with those whom you said 
are better than the best men, who, simply because they 
liad too much love and faith — two qualities which you 
laud to the skies, and reproach me of not having enough 
of — or because they yielded to fear, lies, or superior phys- 
ical strength, at once become by nature worse than men 
who have had years of training in crime ? Your assertion 
that a good woman is better than a good man, is, when we 
consider what you call feminine vii*tues, a slander upon 
the entire race. The woman whom you call better than 
the best man is the one who most quietly accepts the 
slavery of her own position, and most readily overlooks the 
ruin and shame of her sisters. Servility and callousness 
are thus the highest virtues you assign to women. If 
these are the highest virtues of the race, God pity tlie 
woe, and anguish, and groans, and tears of the future! 

“You insist that a bad woman is worse than a bad man. 
Show me the slightest proof of what you say. You will 
bring up Lucrezia Borgia; the stern light of fact fails to 
fasten a single crime upon her ; while even if she were 
guilty of every crime with which romance has surrounded 
her, she would still be better than any male member of 
her family who disgraced the pages of history during 
several centuries. You will bring up Mary I. of England ; 
after all the harm that can possibly be said of her is 
spoken, it must still be admitted that she was far better 
than either her father or her husband. The persecutions 
which she inflicted upon her Protestant subjects were mild 
and humane beside those which her husband studied out 
for his unhappy victims. You will refer to Catharine De 
Medici, and lay the blame of St. Bartholomew’s day upon 
her shoulders; she simply consented to that; the plot was 
originated by the Guises ; Catharine had no office, and no 
power save what her strength of mind gave her; the 
Guises had official power, but they needed the influence of 
Catharine, so they took her into their plot. Even if she 
had entirely formed that plot she would have been no 


A HOME-COMING. 


141 


worse than they, who were professional tyrants and mur- 
derers. Show me the list of female criminals of the pres- 
ent day, or any other day, to oifset your fearful records of 
masculine crime ! No, the worst women are not worse 
than the worst men. Because you are accustomed to see 
a woman mild and kindly, you are more shocked to see 
one prove brutal and unfeeling ; because she is generally 
honest, there is greater surprise when she is convicted of 
theft ; because she is generally pure, there is more horror 
when she proves vicious and lewd; because she is gener- 
ally sober, there is more surprise when she is seen drunk. 
For these reasons the unthinking person will readily say, 
‘ Oh, yes, a bad woman is worse than a bad man.’ But 
it is not true, and under our present system it never can 
be ; because in the lowest and most brutal families, the 
girls receive a little more care, a little more restraint, 
a little more guidance and protection, than do the boys ; 
and the effect of this training, poor and inadequate as it 
is, will produce a slight difference in the female’s favor 
between herself and her brother, even after both have 
become professional criminals. But every blatant dema- 
gogue who refuses to think or to investigate, who closes 
his ear to the cry of suffering and his eye to the writhings 
of distress, that he may more completely concentrate his 
powers in gaining place and profit for himself, rolls that 
sentence into his mouth, launches it forth, and disgraces 
logic by calling his hackneyed declaration argument. 

For ages upon ages this little world stood still, and the 
great sun spent its time rolling round it, to give it light. 
The ignorant strong said so, and if the wise weak chose 
to investigate they did so under fear of persecution and 
death. The strong stamped their feet and said, ‘ This 
earth is the centre of the universe,’ and the weak 
trembled and were still. Power manufactured science to 
suit itself then, just as it makes morals to suit itself now; 
and the woman who refuses to accept the moral status 
doled out to her, does so under fear of persecution, social 
ostracism — and,” she added, as her voice sunk to a low 
whisper, as if some fearful drama was being enacted 
before her mental vision, “ even death.” 

‘‘I will admit,” she went on, when her voice once more 
became steady, “that a woman who has once fallen, is 
more slow to attempt reformation than is a man. And 
the reason is easy to find. After a woman has once gone 


142 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


wrong, she can no more return to respectability than I 
could climb to the stars by supporting myself upon the 
successive strata of air and ether through which 1 passed. 
She may, after unheard of effort, and after passing by 
unheeded the taunts, and gibes, and foul jests which are 
hurled at her on every hand, attain tolerance ; but respect- 
ability — never. But if her brother seduce the weak, lie 
in the gutter, or rob his employer, his entire family will 
turn out, call in the preacher, and make a noble fight for 
the erring one’s salvation. And when after a time he 
decides to leave off a portion of his evil habits, society 
crowns him with laurel, elderly women smile and sigh, and 
elderly men stroke their beards and say, ‘ O well, young 
men must sow their wild oats.’ 

“ Is this a noble, a manly state of society, that forgives 
and pets in the strong that for which it crushes the weak ? 
No ; he who forgives in the rich that which he will not 
forgive in the poor, or condones in the strong that for 
which he hisses at the weak, or forgives in himself that 
which he will not forgive in another, is an unfeeling 
tyrant, and humanity groans under the heels of such. 
But for this state of things, we women are not responsible. 
We have no voice to say that you shall not license a 
brothel where men lose respect for woman-kind and where 
women go down to eternal shame. We can not forbid the 
issuing of illustrated papers that debauch our children’s 
minds with scenes of lewdness and crime. Our voice is 
stifled under the oppressing customs of ages, and when we 
find courage to speak we meet only with ridicule and 
persecution.” 

Well, Gessia, I suppose women are mistreated some; 
though not so bad as you think — you are fearfully preju- 
diced, Gessia. But then so long as it’s so, and you and I 
can’t help it, why, I think, as I’ve said before, that it’s 
better to just take things as easy as possible and not fret 
about it.” 

Where is your reason ? Yoli ask a woman to smile at 
the world’s oileness, and to calmly let vice take its vicious 
course ; and yet you ask this w^eak, yielding creature, who 
consents to an alliance with shame, to mother sons who 
shall be as pillars of strength for the support of the repub- 
lic ; you ask this in the face of the fact that the noblest 
men of all times have be m mothered by the noblest, most 
intelligent, and most progressive women ; in face of the 


A HOME COMING. 


143 


fact that Alexander was the son of the beautiful and high- 
spirited Olympias, whom even Philip of Macedon could not 
induce to consent to a rival in his love ; in face of the fact 
that the Gracchi were the sons of the enlightened and 
noble Cornelia; in face of the fact that Julius Caesar was 
the son of one of the strongest women of all times ; in face 
of the fact that Thomas k Becket was the son of a mother 
whom love rendered more fearless than did valor any Sara- 
cenic warrior; that Napoleon was the son of a mother 
who to the last controlled even him ; that Washington was 
the offspring of a woman celebrated throughout the colo- 
nies for her nobility and strength of mind ; that Lincoln 
remembered to his dying day the influence of the mother 
who died in his childhood. But why prolong the list; the 
wisest, strongest, and noblest humanity is the offspring of 
the wisest, strongest, and noblest humanity, just as your 
best stock is the offspring of the best. But men are less 
careful of the parentage of their children than they are of 
that of their stock ; the latter must have the most excel- 
lent parentage that can be had. 

“ How can you expect a woman who smilingly allies her- 
self with shame to mother aught save weaklings ?* How 
can you expect one who avenges her wrongs in secret to 
mother aught save rogues ? How can you expect one who 
frets her life away over wrongs that murder her peace of 
mind, to mother aught save malcontents? Is there no 
warning in this thought ? Does not the prevalence- of vice 
foreshadow a time when the men of this republic will be 
all inadequate to propel the ship of state ? I know that 
some intelligent women have thought upon this subject of 
injustice to the wife until they have lost faith in the insti- 
tution of marriage, and one can scarcely wonder that they 
have done so. The institution as it is now, in which the 
husband must fill the ears of a stainless bride with the 
records of his crime, is worse than prisons and chains. 
But in the institution, I have not lost faith ; I believe that 
the pure marriage and the happy home are the best and 
almost the only sureties of the people against tyranny, 
injustice, crime, and national death. A nation holds so 
fiercely to its old customs that I have often wondered if 
justice will ever be done us — if the time will ever come 
when we can call our husbands our own. I used to believe 
that it would be all right for women to be let vote if they 
wanted to ; but for myself I shrunk at the thought of going 


144 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


to the polls and voting. But I have learned such horrible 
tilings since marriage that I have come to believe that the 
ballot is our only protection.’* 

“ I can’t see how the ballot will help you ; so many 
women are so ignorant.” 

‘‘And so are so many men. But the ballot educates. 
When it is put into the hands of a class, some of them at 
least will ask, ‘What is this for? Why do I have it? 
What shall I do with it ? ’ The ballot was given to the 
freedinan, and it has helped him. To be sure he did not 
spring at once into enlightenment — it would have been 
unnatural had he done so — no subject class can at once 
throw off the shackles of ignorance and dependence that 
have bound it. But citizenship is a teacher, and the negi’o 
has improved under it, and he will continue to improve. 
When the few have the ballot they make mistakes; so 
would the many ; and why may not the many be as quick 
to see and to right their mistakes as the few. Suffrage 
held back from a citizen for other reasons than youth, 
imbecility, or crime, is the beginning of tyranny. If the 
ballot were taken out of the hands of the poor, they would 
suffer far more even than now, for the rich would legislate 
against them. The ballot is not in the hands of women, 
and they suffer fearfully from the effects of saloons and 
brothels which they are powerless to abolish. Were the 
ballot given to women, many would not at first understand 
its use — perliaps some would at first refuse to use it at all. 
But the pride of citizenship would awaken them, party 
enthusiasm would awaken them, and they would learn ; 
questions concerning their homes would arise, and they 
V ould find interest. The ballot is for the protection of the 
citizen, and more than for him, for his children, who are 
the wards of the republic until they reach manhood, and 
many of whom are allowed to perish because of inadequate 
laws.” 

“ But, Gessia, the men can take care of the laAvs and the 
children and homes too.” 

“ They dorCt do it. I’m perfectly willing for them to, 
but they don’t and they won’t.” 

“ The ballot is unwomanly ! ” 

“ If I asked for the ballot for the purpose of standing 
Ijalf drunk on the street corners, cursing the candidates on 
tiie opposite ticket, or for the purpose of walking through 
a crowd to the polls to show a new dress, I too would say, 


A HOME-COMING. 


145 


the ballot is unwomanly. But when I ask for it as a 
means of protecting my home and my children it is a differ- 
ent matter. A woman is not and can not be unwomanly 
when she is seeking the good of her children, no matter 
what be the manner of her quest. A woman with chil- 
dren should have every advantage of knowledge and mor- 
ality that can possibly be given her ; for she who holds in 
her arms a child of her own, clasps to her bosom the des- 
tinies of the world.” 

“ Oh, I know, Gessia, that a mother has a great deal of 
influence ; but then I don’t believe they need the ballot. 
I’m afraid they’d make bad use of it.” 

“ Bad use of it ? Merciful heavens I Would it be the 
first time it had been made bad use of? Could we do 
worse than to keep the poor groaning, and vote our sons 
and daughters to death and shame? Could we make 
worse mistakes than to shame ourselves, stir up sectional 
strife, legislate in favor of political factions, forgetful of 
justice, and toady to wealth and power? But I do not 
care so much for these latter questions ; there are wiser 
heads than mine to study them. I would like to vote for 
the purity of home and the salvation of my sisters — for 
the protection of a happiness to others which has fled from 
me forever.” 

John was silent for a time. “ Gessia, ” he said at last, 
“ the time was when you were so different — when every- 
thing you said was sweet and trustful and loving ; but now 
you seem completely filled with abuse ; you fairly rave 
when you get started I ” 

“ The time when I was sweet and trustful and loving,” 
she said, quietly, was when I had faith in the world and 
trusted the man I loved. But it has all changed. The 
world has turned its guilty side to me by showing me the 
flaws in a character I adored ; and now, all I can see are 
hands stretched out for succor, and all I can hear are the 
wailings of the lost. The hatred of social tyranny and 
injustice have grown so strong within me, that I feel as if 
I were steeped to the lips in venom. I am like yon river, 
that flows sweetly and smoothly along, singing over white 
pebbles, and reflecting the light of sunbeams, until its 
bosom is darkened by the storm ; then the foul impurities 
of a hundred hills are washed into its bed ; it swells, and 
its dark, angry current mutters sullenly along, carrying 
with it the drift of happier and brighter days. Forgive 
10 


146 


THE FATE OF A FOOL 


my rudeness and impetuosity, dear; they are the children 
of despair, and I can no more repress them tlian I could 
keep down the dancing, singing ecstacy of my soul, in 
those days when your name, to me, meant all that was 
grand and heroic and noble.” 


CHAPTER XY. 

A weddin’ dance. 

Cornelia Ely had been wooed and won by Sam ]\Ic- 
Cain. All the neighborhood had heard of it. Every- 
body talked about it. The wedding had already tiiken 
place, but Sam and Cornelia were not satisfied; they 
wanted a weddin’ dance. 

Every McCain that had so far been married from the 
paternal mansion had been given a weddin’ dance and Sam 
insisted that it was no more than fair that he should have 
one. Was not he the youngest son ? Tlie very youngest 
child, save Mary? He talked to Old Breezy and Aunt 
Sarah and begged them to reconsider. Aunt Sarah had 
said that there should be no more dances at her house 
that fall, and Old Breezy had said that he was getting old, 
and the sight of people flying about over the floor made 
his head ache. But Sam eamestly begged them to recon- 
sider. Cornelia shed tears. Then Old Breezy told of the 
hardships he’d had away back in forty-nine, and now the 
idea of his having his life pestered out of him by his 
youngest son, about a weddin’ dance, w^as too much. But 
Sam begged leave to waive the year forty-nine, and in- 
sisted that his father should reconsider. Aunt Sarah at 
last agreed to arbitrate. She agreed that if Cornelia 
would tack some comforts, and cut some carpet rags for 
her, that she would yield her objections, and attempt to 
move the old man. The old man Anally gave way ; he 
agreed to reconsider, and as a consequence of said recon- 
sideration the weddin’ dance was announced as a coming 
event. The time was set, and Sam mounted a broncho to 
announce the joyful tidings to the neighbors. He told Bill 
Ely and Jake Muldoon to bring the Smith girls, and bade 
Erastus McGaggy bring Julia McCollum. He was going 


A weddin’ dance. 


147 


to tell Jake Mayfair to bring Celia McDowell ; but Jake 
promptly informed him that he could row his own boat — 
not meaning any offense, however. Dan Ely and Bill 
Shuff were notified to eome supplied with music. The 
Solomons, the Ransoms, the Sheldons, and in fact the 
whole neighborhood, were invited, and a “ roarin’ time ” 
was anticipated. 

Now, to tell the truth, Old Breezy McCain and family 
were a little under the high social standard of Bowlder 
Creek. They were uneducated, comparatively poor, and 
lived in a log house. Then if all must be told the old 
man’s memory and judgment were quite as poor as his 
purse. He had a natural genius for romancing, and his 
imagination out-ran his discretion to such an extent that 
his auditors occasionally laughed in his face. But as his 
stories generally had a humorous turn, he pocketed the 
laugh as a compliment, and taxed his imagination still 
further. 

But the whole amusement-loving neighborhood always 
turned out to a “ dance,” even were it held at the resi- 
dence of Old Breezy McCain ; that is, all but the Hattons 
— the Hattons did not get invitations — they were not 
wanted among such line folks as the Ransoms. 

“ Do you want to go to the dance, Gessia ? ” asked John 
one afternoon after he had been notified. 

“0, I’m not particular about it,” said Gessia, quietly. 

“ Why not? you used to delight in dancing.” 

‘‘ Yes, I know, but the children — ” 

Never mind about the children ; ” said Hetty Ann 
Bales as she entered the door. ‘‘ I heered what you was 
sayin’. Miss Solomon, as I come up to the door, and I’d 
rather keep the children than not. I don’t ’low to go, and 
if you and John wants to go and have a good time, why. 
I’ll be glad to keep the little boys. I’m not one of the 
sort to neglect ’em and forget to look after ’em. I don’t 
consider that ’cause a child’s a boy that he can git along 
without any lookin’ after or bringin* up. I allers say that 
if it’s really the truth that a boy is naterally wilder than a 
girl, that he needs a sight more lookin’ after and more 
careful trainin’ than she does ; but he don’t get it, that’s 
all. He’s gen’ly let grow up in such a manner that he’s 
got no raisin’ himself, and is ready to destroy the effects 
of the good raisin’ (hat some of the neighbor girls has 
had,” 


148 


THE FATE OF A FOOE. 


‘‘Humph! You couldn’t spoil those children if you 
wanted to. They are babies. Ralph is only a little more 
than three years old,” said John in a decided tone. 

“ Yes,” said Hetty Ann, “ and the fruit that gits frosted, 
gits frosted while it’s in the bud ; and that that gits stung, 
gits stung while it’s in the blossom ; and that that gits out 
of the blossom all right is mighty apt to make good fruit. 
A child can have his health blighted, and can be let learn 
mean habits in the buddin’ time of his very babyhood, till 
he’ll never be a healthy nor a pure minded man. And he 
can learn as much meanness in his blossomin’ childhood 
in two weeks, as a man could in four, and he’ll never 
forgit it either. His mind is as soft and yieldin’ as an 
unbaked loaf of bread ; and if I stick my finger down 
into an unbaked loaf, tlie mark stays there and gits baked 
in. The child’s jest like the fruit I was talkin’ about — if 
he gits stung with evil, in the blossom of life, he’ll carry 
the marks jest as plain as a plum will ; and if he gits out 
of the blossom age all right, he’s tolable safe.” 

Here John arose and announced that he was going out 
to work. He was not overfond of Hetty Ann’s philos- 
ophy. 

“ Mrs. Bales,” said Gessia, “ how in the name of reason 
can a mother keep her children’s minds from becoming 
poisoned in such an infected neighborhood as this ? There 
is scarcely a man on the Creek who is in the least careful 
what he says before his children ; scarcely a woman who 
does not delight in coarse jokes ; and as a consequence 
their children, often those who cannot talk plain, lisp out 
vice and practice the most disgusting habits.” 

“'Well, Miss Solomon, I know it’s hard to keep children 
clean and safe, but then it’s worth doin’, and it’s the only 
way. You might jest as well try to bring rotten fruit 
back to soundness as to git evil out of a mind after once 
it’s been trained in. It gets to be second natur’ and it 
won’t come out. A man that ain’t been taught when he’s 
a child that little girls have jest as much right to have 
their way once in a while as he has, and that other folks 
have the same nateral light that he has, never will learn 
it, and that’s all there is to it. He may run agin the 
law and git punished because he don’t see it, but that 
w^on’t make him see either, like he ort to. He’ll jest cuss 
the law, and won’t understand it. 

“ The future citizens of this_ country are makin’ weed 


A WEDDIN* DANCE. 


149 


fences and wooden trains and corn-cob houses and play 
bridges and mud pies now, and are crowdin* one another 
aside and slappin’ each other and cussiri* and blackguardin’ 
according to their respective natures and teaching and jest 
as they’re let behave now at their play, jest so will they 
behave forty years from now in the business of life. I 
tell you lots of parents ain’t half parents; they don’t 
know half the time where their children are or what 
they’re doin’, and what’s more they don’t care. But there’s 
men growin’ up somewhere to fill the prisons and swing 
from the gallows of future times, and who knows but 
they’re the very ones that’s bein’ let form mean habits 
and run wild on the streets now ? Many a mother will let 
her children run to grass so she can make stylish clothes 
for ’em, or fix up pie to ruin their stomachs, or go out call- 
ing on folks that don’t care the snap of their finger for 
her. I say it’s a mother’s place to let style and society 
both go if need be, and take care of her children’s minds 
and hearts and health ; and a woman that’s treated right 
is willin’ to that. But then many a man will act so 
mean that a woman will lose all heart, like I did, and 
not care much what happens to anything. A woman 
that’s goin’ to raise a family of children needs the best 
treatment of any critter on airth ; for creatin’ the citi- 
zens of a country is the heaviest job about a country. 

“ Then lots of parents seem to think business talents 
grow on trees, and that people can pick ’em off and use 
’em when they like ; so they don’t teach their children the 
difference between business and stealin’; and as a conse- 
quence part of the boys take to some kind of a more or 
less respectable stealin’, and the rest tramp. I tell you 
there’s only one person in the whole country that ort to 
come anyways near bein’ as smart or as good as a child’s 
mother, and that’s his grandmother. But when a woman 
is jest edicated in weakness and foolishness and depend- 
ence and scandal, you can’t expect much of her children. 
Ike Ransom thinks he’s a mighty smart man, but his old 
Texas cows don’t come up with thoroughbred Durham 
calves, for all that. 

“ When a person sees a passel of little children runnin’ 
with foul-mouthed boys and girls, he thinks it means that 
the mother is off somewhere havin’ a good time, and the 
father is off tryin’ to save his country talkin’ politics; 
but while it means that, it also means somethin’ more ; it 


150 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


means ignorance and hunger and crime and trampin’, and 
like as any way, prison, for them youngsters. The mother 
will come home bye-and-bye and tell the hired girl to 
bring the children in and wash their faces ; but law, she 
don’t suspect the load of filth that’s on their minds, that 
no washin’ will ever clean olf. I believe in children 
playin’ — I like to see ’em frolickin’ like so many lambs ; 
but I believe in ’em bein’ kept innocent and pure. I know 
a pure-minded child can play lots more light-hearted than 
a child that’s allers studyin’ meanness. Sin and spite 
make people old and sour, w^hen they ort to be young and 
happy. If you want to keep yer little boys’ minds clean, 
you’ll jest hev to keep ’em away from vicious children ; 
that’s the only way to keep sech children from hurtin’ ’em. 
A mother can take an old split-bottomed rockin’ chair, and 
hold the youngest child and tell stories to the others while 
they play round her — all about history and science and 
questions of right and wrong, sich as come up every day, 
till the children git so they don’t care a thing about mean- 
ness ; and she can sit in an old split-bottomed chair, or a 
plush rocker, either, and can talk in sich a manner that 
the children won’t care for nothin’ hut meanness. The 
mind grows on what it feeds on, and its health is jest as 
easily ruined as the bodily health is. I’ve seen the worst 
kind of cases of mental dyspepsia and consumption in 
children that wa’ii’t twelve years old. But here I go on 
talkin’, instead of tellin’ you what I come for. As soon 
as I heered of the dance I said to myself that you ort to 
go, and that I’d keep the children. It ’ll do you good. 
Miss Solomon, to go and git roused up a little. You’re 
lookin’ mighty bad of late.” 

“ Oh, Mrs. Bales, I do not care to dance any more. I 
used to think it grand amusement, but now when I think 
of it, it seems foolish. Everything seems so flat and use- 
less.” 

“Well, Miss Solomon, you’d better wake up and try to 
git some cheer. You’d better wear yer trouble out or it ’ll 
wear you out. Don’t think about it at all.” 

“I can not help it — and I can’t reconcile myself to soci- 
ety at all. The men we meet and dance with at balls 
have danced at other places, where — Oh ! I can not think 
of anything else ! ” 

*‘Well you’d better think of something else. You’ve 
got two little children that loves you mighty well and that 


A WEDDIN* DANCE. 151 

Deeds you mighty bad; this worryin’ is bad for you, and it 
may land you where you don’t much want to go.” 

“Oh,” said Gessia in quiet despair, “ if it were not for 
the children I would not care where I went nor how soon. 
There is nothing else left here. Tliere is nothing worth 
living for but love, and nothing worth doing but loving. 
The storm threatens, the lightning blasts, the flood sweeps 
away, fire burns and destroys, wealth takes wings and 
flies away, style is endless vexation, and humanity is false 
and treacherous. F or the vexation and fright and endless 
worry occasioned by these, there is but one solace — to 
love some one who can be relied upon through them 
all. Our adoration for this one and fbr his little ones, 
will give us strength to smile at fortune’s reverses and fill 
our hearts with charity for humanity’s quarrels, lies, and 
deceits. But wdien we learn that the one we loved and 
called our own is not ours, there is nothing left but deso- 
lation.” 

“ Miss Solomon,” said Hetty Ann, tearfully, “now do you 
know what you’re doin’? I tell you men ain’t worth the 
women they kill, and the women are silly to let theirselves 
be killed. But it’s no use talkin’. You jest dress up and 
go to the dance and have a good time.” 

“A good time? How is anyone who is losing faith in 
everything and learning to hate everybody, to have a good 
time ? 

“ You orten to hate everybody. I know that lots of 
people are mean, but then some ain’t. I’ve seen decent 
people as well as mean ones. Then them as is bad is to 
be pitied some as well as hated. I don’t doubt they’d 
done better if they’d been raised right, and then had de- 
cent company and encouragement afterward. I believe 
in always findin’ out people ’fore you hate ’em. A person 
ain’t necessarily mean jest ’cause he’s a man, though I 
admit he often takes advantage of that fact to he mean. 
It’s always well to investigate ’fore we express our opinion 
Now I used to think when I heered of a Northern man 
doin’ a mean trick that he done it ’cause he was a Yan- 
kee ; but I’ve been well acquainted with some Yankees 
since then, and I’ve come to the conclusion now, that he 
done the mean thing ’cause he was mean. I’ve found out 
that a man ain’t obliged to be mean jest ’cause he come 
from Massachusetts, nor ain’t necessarily an angel jest 
’cause he was born in Tennessee. I don’t deny that cli- 


152 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


mate has its effect on traits, but then where people of one 
State have one kind of good traits, them of another have 
another kind. But as for meanness, that’s distributed 
round so that all sections has got a mighty big share of it. 
But don’t you worry ’bout the meanness nor nothing else ; 
you jest go to the dance and have a good time.” 

‘‘ Well, I’ll go, Mrs. Bales, and I thank you for your 
offer about the children. If I never get a chance to pay 
you back — ” 

‘‘ Its paid back already. Miss Solomon. You are the 
only woman in this neighborhood, ’ceptin’ Sallie Hatton, 
that’s ever treated me like I was a woman. Jest ’cause I 
ain’t got anything but caliker to wear, and ’cause my hus- 
band’s a drunkard, I know I ain’t welcome at their houses, 
and I do know that I’ve often been surprised at the way 
you treated me. And now I must go ; I’ve got to make 
some cookies and git some meat on to bile, so Josiah can 
have his warm supper. Good-day, Miss Solomon.” 

It happened that Dan Ely and Bill Shuff, who were to 
furnish the music at the ball, were late. The guests had 
arrived, had waited, and their feet had become uneasy. 
Investigating parties went ever and anon out upon the 
front porch to look and listen for their coming. Jake 
Mayfair sat beside the school teacher, holding a fan as 
blue as that lady’s own eyes, and expressing to her often 
and volubly, his wonder that the music was so slow. 

Now it chanced that Aunt Sarah McCain was a musi- 
cian ; it had been her custom occasionally to sing for the 
little circle of friends who met now and then at her house 
for the purpose of dancing away a few hours. She had 
never sung for any general parties, but the higher social 
lights of the neighborhood had often heard of her music, 
and longed to listen to it. They saw that now was their 
time. They sent forward Ida Jane Ransom and Mrs. 
Sheldon to speak to Aunt Sarah, thinking perhaps that the 
well known fact of that seal- skin sacque costing two hun- 
dred and fifty dollars would have its effect. The old lady 
hesitated. She informed them that she had decided to 
sing for no more dancin’. The embassadoresses insisted, 
and Aunt Sarah finally concluded that since strangers were 
present she would for this one time waive her decision. 
She announced that she would sing, and the higher social 


A WEDDIN* DANCE. 


153 


lights crowded upon the floor in anticipation of a rich treat. 
Erastus McGaggy, who was new to the neighborhood, 
stood at the head of the quadrille with Julia MacCollum; 
Ike Ransom and Ida Jane and Jake Mayfair and Miss 
Royal took the next two places, while Will Hockman, Ike 
Ransom’s exceedingly dudish cousin from the East, who 
had heard much of the McCains during his brief stay in 
the neighborhood, selected Mary McCain as his partner, 
so that his amusement would be complete. Mary was of 
course much flattered ; her face would have blushed with 
pleasure until it shone red as the artificial poppies on her 
head, had not the layer of Pride of Colorado flour been too 
thick upon her features. 

When the quadrille was fully formed, Auni Sarah shook 
out the folds of her plaid dress and the muslin ruffles of 
her cap, and rushing forward, seized Erastus McGaggy by 
the arm and whirled him violently round in front of his 
partner, and exclaimed in a business-like tone : “ Now, 

stranger, I’ll tell you what I want you to do then she 
added to a well known and lively frontier air the follow- 
ing words : 


I want you to dance with the first gal, 

Tudle addle, addle ah, 

Then with the next gal 
Tudle addle, addle an, 

Then with the next gal 
Tudle addle, addle ah, 

Then with iny daughter Mary 
With a whoop de dooden do.’^ 

She sent each gentleman round in this fashion, and then 
followed with the ladies. By the time the figure was done 
the entire eight, with the exception of Mary, were quak- 
ing with laughter. Mary, however, was so delirious with 
joy that she did not perceive the ridicule. Even the pale 
face of Gessia, as she sat in her obscure corner, was 
lighted up by a faint smile as she watched the antics of 
the old woman and listened to the odd inflections of her 
high-pitched voice. Just as the laughing, perspiring danc- 
ers were taking their seats, the musicians arrived, and Aunt 
Sarah resigned in their favor. She sat down in a quiet 
comer and mopped the perspiration from a countenance 
that showed great satisfaction for a work well done. 

The violins were tuned, and soon the dancers were 
whirling to their music. The music whirled a little too. 
The gentlen^ly musicians had gone to Milroy City in the 


154 


THE FATE OF A FOOt. 


evening, and were consequently late at the hall ; the cause 
might have been a few drinks of that particularly strong 
soda water from the Arriba Spring for which Milroy City 
is so justly celebrated. One very strong argument in far 
vor of the soda water, is the fact that Bill Shuff ’s leading 
peculiarity is a habit he has of slapping his thigh and say- 
ing, “ I’m a sensible man, I am by jingoes.” T^ow as 
Bill’s children went barefoot five-sixths of the year and 
wore moccasins made by their mother the other sixth, and 
went hungry once in a while — occasionally twice ina whilte 
— it is not likely that a sensible man whose children were 
in such a plight would give his money to a man that 
wouldn’t work, but was always ready to gobble up other 
men’s work wages to clothe and feed his own children. 
A sensible man, according to some people’s opinions, 
would have used the fruits of his labor to feed and clotlie 
his own, and not another man’s children. And Bill being 
as he himself averred, a sensible man, would of course 
have acted on that principle ; so it must have been some 
of that “ awful strong ” soda water from the Arriba Spring 
tliat unsteadied the music at the weddin’ dance. 

There was a perfect furor concerning Miss Royal. Her 
blue eyes must have had a direct connection with Cupid’s 
quiver, for they wounded Jake Mayfair past all cure, and 
seriously damaged Will Hockman and Erastus McGaggy. 
Jake was as helpless as the proverbial moth flying around 
the candle. No matter wlio was talking or dancing with 
Miss Royal, he was continually making pilgrimages to her 
to give her all sorts of information ; and when these had 
all been exhausted, he, with the very best of intentions, 
purloined her fan for the purpose of bringing it back again. 
Erastus McGaggy gave her a great deal of valuable in- 
formation concerning Yellowstone Park and came back 
three times to relate circumstances he had previously for- 
gotten to mention. Will Hockman trod upon her dress so 
as to have the opportunity of apologizing in his courtly city 
style. Even Ike Ransom donned some of his old time 
gallantry for the benefit of the pretty school teacher, which 
caused Ida Jane some alarm, that even the thought of the 
seal-skin sacque could not wholly assuage. She finally got 
possession of Ike, and angrily asked him if he had forgot- 
ten how Miss Royal hadn’t whipped Jakie Hatton when he 
mauled Tommy so mercilessly, and cast such an odious 
slur upon the family honor. Ike then ceased his attentions, 


A WEDDIN* DANCE. 


155 


but he still looked hungrily at Miss Royal in a degree that 
caused Ida Jane to turn very pale beneath her immaculate 
rouge. 

The amusement ran high ; and ever and anon Bill 
Shuff laid down his violin and made a hasty pilgrimage to 
the wood-shed. Might there be a jug of that same Arriba 
soda water out there? At all events the music became 
more and more unsteady. Sam McCain bad danced nine 
sets with Cornelia. He was warm with the amusement, 
and somewhat heated concerning the erratic music. Per- 
spiration, dust, and indignation struggled with each other 
for the mastery of his countenance. Finally at the close 
of a figure he raised his bead and shouted in the majestic 
tone so peculiar to recently married men : 

‘‘ Bill Shuff, if I was such a low down dog as to try to 
play for a dance when I was in your fix, I’d go out and 
kick myself. The way you’re sawing that machine, a man 
can’t tell “ The Girl I left Behind me” from “The Irish 
Washerwoman.” 

“ Did you call me a low down dog ? ” shrieked Bill. 

“ Yes, I did.” 

“ Well, I jest tell yer now, that there’s jest as good blood 
in the Shuffs as there is in any McCain that ever lived ! ” 
screamed Bill. 

“ Yes, and you’re about three times as drunk as any 
McCain I ever saw ! ” 

“ I’ll bust this fiddle all to ribbons over yer bead, if yer 
head ain’t too soft ! ” shrieked Bill, as he leaped down from 
the platform. Dan Ely caught his arm, but the momen- 
tum already generated was too much for his muscle, and 
Bill descended into the midst of the quadrille like a moun- 
tain lion into a flock of lambs. The bride threw her arms 
around her husband’s neck, and Jake Mayfair, in the undue 
excitement of the moment, put his arm round Miss Royal’s 
waist, and favored her with the information that be proposed 
to throw everybody in the house out of the window provided 
that were necessary to save her. But tlie tears of the 
bride, the wailings of Aunt Sarah, the protestations of old 
Breezy, and the general advice of the crowd caused a better 
era of feelings to prevail. The violin was spared. The 
hardness of Sam McCain’s head went untested. Every- 
body was pleased over this amicable arrangement save 
Jake Mayfair. He was a most excellent, but very bashful 
young man, and this was the first time he had ever found 


156 


THE FATE OE A FOOL. 


courage to venture so far with a lady. Then the idea of 
all the danger being over in half a minute ! But Jake did 
not forget ; he never brushed the right sleeve of the coat 
he wore that evening as long as it was a coat. 

Will Hockman and Erastus McGaggy met in a dark 
corner soon after and assured each other that if Bill Shuff 
had pitched on to Jake Mayfair, that it would have served 
him just right. They never saw anybody getting forward 
and hateful and disagreeable and self-important so fast as 
he was. That girl wouldn’t look at him twice if it wasn’t 
for his saddle horses, and it would serve him just right 
when she fired him, as she’d do inside of a week, sure. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

AFTERWARD. 

“ Well, Gessla, how did you enjoy the dance? ” asked 
John Solomon of his weary wife the morning after the 
ball. 

Oh, it was very nice — considering everything. I en- 
joyed Mrs. McCain’s singing.” 

“ It was too bad about that fuss. Such things give a 
neighborhood a bad name. Neighborhoods ought to look 
out for their reputations as well as individuals.” 

“ Yes,” said the wife, wearily. 

‘‘ Why didn’t you dance more, Gessia?” 

“ O, I danced four times. That was as often as anyone 
asked me.” 

“ Yes, but you sat behind people, and hid in dark corners 
where no one could see you. And then you ought to have 
been dressed better.” She did not answer, and finally he 
said vehemently : “ That school teacher is certainly soft. 
She actually acts like she cared something for that Jake 
Mayfair.” 

“ What is wrong with him ? ” asked Gessia, as her large 
eyes dilated. 

“ Oh, nothing in particular — ^but then he’s slow — has no 
spunk about him.” 

“ Why, you told me — ” 

“ Oh, yes, I know he got that out child of the river. But 


AFTERWARD. 


157 


that don’t signify. He is queer. He’s not companionable. 
He’s kind-hearted enough, for all I know, but then he’s 
not like young men in general. Now he’s been out here 
ever since he was a boy and yet — well, he’s just gone 
along and has never made any stir one way or the 
other.” 

‘‘ I never heard of him fussing with any one.” 

“ No ; he don’t fuss. But he’s got such peculiar opinions. 
He don’t try to please people. Now he puts forward some 
of your theories. Of course I have come to admit that if 
you want to think that way, it’s not so bad — not that I 
altogether agree with you — but then it’s unbearable and 
womanish in him.” 

Gessia threw up her hands and screamed. Then she 
buried her face in the baby’s curls. John looked vexed. 

“Now, Gessia,” he said, “what’s the use of acting so? 
You ought to reason. Jake Mayfair isn’t popular; no 
man with such opinions can be or ever will be. I’m not 
going to say that a man ought to be bad — I’ve admitted 
that I did wron^ — ^but then when a man thinks that way 
it’s better for him to keep it still. Now I heard Ike Ran- 
som cussing him just the other day.” 

“'How can you listen to Ike Ransom? He has branded 
you with hopeless disgrace and misery. He has done you 
an injury that all the angels cannot right. Were he to 
curse me, I would feel it a blessing; for such as he 
curse saints and laud devils and hypocrites.” 

“Well, he’s got lots of influence, anyhow.” 

“ Oh yes ! he has ! he has ! Hypocrisy, deceit, tyranny, 
and injustice have all the influence, and those who would 
see justice done to the weak are scoffed at. Influence, 
yes. Those who persecute always have that, while those 
who would reform have almost none. People fear to fol- 
low the reformer’s lead even were he conducting them to 
saintship.” 

“ Because of his fanaticism ? ” 

“ Fanaticism? What is the fanaticism of the reformer 
compared to that of his persecutor? Search history 
through, and you will find seas of blood and acres of fagot 
and flame for your answer. No, they fear to follow lest 
they be also followed by persecution, and because they 
would be arrayed upon the winning side. They love ease 
and popularity, and they will not open their eyes to 
distress ; they love prosperity, and they will not risk injury 


158 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


to tlieir business by proclaiming tliemselves in sympathy 
with the weak and despised. Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! will the 
time ever come again when the weak will be protected, 
when the noble and the just will be also the popular ? Justice 
and reason are spasmodic. One great wave of improve- 
ment brought Wasliingloii to be a national idol in spite of 
the opposition that hissed from the lips of tyranny in the 
Old World; another enthroned Lincoln in the popular 
heart, but both these waves rose from one clan’s hatred 
of the wrong and injustice practiced by another. Will the 
time ever come when men will be noble enough to throw 
off their own evil natures, to give liberty, equality, and 
justice to their own helpless dependents ? No, I fear it 
will not. Our very shrieks are echoed by derisive laughs, 
and those who would champion our helplessness are 
scorned. Power, popularity, custom, law, and respecta- 
bility are all on your side. You exclude us from equality 
in your best colleges that you may keep us ignorant and 
make us more willing to bear the yoke ; you refuse us 
equal wages for labor that we may more readily yield our- 
selves to prostitution ; you cut off to your utmost power the 
number of honest employments we may engage in, that we 
must the more readily yield to marriage, which often is 
alike misery and disgrace. Under such a system as ours, 
what man can assure himself of the love of his wife ? She 
may have come to him ever so willingly, but how does he 
know that it was love that made her willing ? Society 
required that she should marry ; she must have bread and 
clothes and social standing — she must escape that fearful 
disgrace, old maidenhood — she will be excused for taking 
the most disreputable man for these reasons. How can 
any man, cognizant of such facts, assure himself that his 
wife does not secretly scorn him? Is it to be supposed 
that all the kings, tyrants, and slave drivers who have 
required unhesitating obedience, endless service, and cease- 
less protestations of fidelity and affection from tlieir shrink- 
ing underlings, received one jot of love from the cringing 
hearts that trembled at their lightest word ? Not they. 
But they received infinitudes of silent, hopeless hate that 
smouldered throughout ages, handed down from sire to son, 
until it broke out in flame that lit up scenes of murder, 
rapine, outrage, and devastation, such as the French Revo- 
lution and the Ilaytien rebellion. The nation that has a 
subject class will save credit, property, and life, by doing 


AFTERWARD. 


159 


voluntary justice to that class. Think of the innocent and 
harmless son of the king of France, lying in prison, beaten, 
starved, unwashed, covered with sores and filth, and dying 
like a dog at last. He suffered not for his own sins, but 
for those of his tyrant class. He suffered for fields laid 
waste, for homes desolated, for daughters, wives, and sisters 
seduced, for fathers and brothers ground down under taxes 
concerning which they had no voice. Beware the fury of 
the long-suffering subject class! We are silently looking 
on while taxes in which we have no voice are being levied 
on our possessions ; we are weeping for daughters, sisters, 
and friends seduced under protection of laws which know 
us not ; we are punished just as relentlessly under those 
laws as if we had formed them ; we must listen with a 
smile while our husbands boast their shame, and must 
bring forth sons, whom your laws license to commit fearful 
crimes, and who in their turn will place their heels upon 
our necks. 

Look where your laws are leading you. Your licensed 
brothels are breeding effeminacy, weakness of resolution, 
moral suicide, and blindness to justice, as well as bodily 
weakness, disease, and often death. You care not for the 
women they destroy, but this is what they are doing for 
the men. They are standing records of your inefficiency 
— ^your admission of a crime which you say you must 
license because you can not control. There is poor little 
Anna Gray — only fifteen years old — who has just 
fallen. She had no mother, and consequently no 
teaching. Her beneficent country did not require 
that the wretches who kept her in their house for the 
labor of her thin little hands, should give her a day’s 
schooling and consequently she has never had a day’s 
schooling. She cannot read, nor write her own name, 
but she is destined to become the mother of some 
one who will doubtless be as wretched as herself. She 
yielded to the threats of her employer’s brutal son, whom 
your worthless laws will excuse for the payment of a small 
sum of money, and she is lost. She is doomed to endless 
suffering and shame, as is also her helpless child, whom 
your laws allow to be deserted and scorned by its father. 
Why does not your law license her to murder that cliild ? 
Its fife can only be one of endless misery ; is it not infinitely 
better off dead ? Would it not suffer far less were she to 
strangle it as soon as it is born ? But no, you shrink at 


160 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


the idea of licensing murder; yet you favor licensing that 
which produces not only continual murder but also endless 
suffering and shame to the weak.” 

“O Gessia, why can’t you he reasonable? Men don’t 
think about tliese things. I don’t suppose they would be 
so lenient to the fault if they were to think it over. I’m 
beginning to see that it ought to be looked into ; but then 
you always carry things too far. You ought to allow for 
thoughtlessness.” 

“The strong are very often thoughtless where the wel- 
fare of others is concerned. Their rule is to enjoy, and to 
see that their favorite enjoyments are licensed and made 
respectable, no matter what is the result. The strong 
never forgive the weak for thoughtlessness, if such thought- 
lessness should chance to interfere with their prosperity and 
enjoyment. But beware of thoughtlessness ; it sometimes 
hangs a veil even before the eyes of the strong so that 
they cannot see the danger that approaches. Such thought- 
lessness menaces the very life of the nation. The low 
moral tone and the licensed brothel are ruining the ambi- 
tion of young men. The youth has his imagination fed 
upon foul stories and filthy jests until what might have 
been virtuous love becomes vicious lust. The law opens 
the door to places of gratification, and indulgence causes 
brutality to grow. The young man loses his desire for a 
home where a wife smiles tenderest welcome and where 
happy children play ; he no longer lays by money for the 
sake of supporting such a home, for all he earns goes to 
buy the caresses of the lost. What wonder that our roads 
are lined with tramps? What wonder that men who have 
failed to found homes, who have spent their lives revelling 
in crime, whose youth was lost, and whose ambition was 
dissipated under the shadow of the law, beg for bread from 
door to door? If your country was invaded by hostile 
hordes could you expect such men as these, to fight like 
those whose wives and children have wept against the blue 
uniforms, and waved a tearful good-bye as the loved one 
marched away ? The home is all we have to depend on 
for the creation of noble citizens ; and yet your laws 
almost ignore it. Why not make it a grand institution, 
and give it the protection and encouragement it needs and 
deserves ? 

“ If the encouragiivg and licensing of this horror contin- 
ues, the homes will not only become fewer in number, but 


AFTERWARD. 


161 


will degenerate in character. The best and noblest women 
will refuse to marry if they must lower themselves by so 
doing ; and the unions of criminal men and weak women 
will bring forth a nation of criminal weaklings, indifferent 
to aught save indulgence and ease, and careless alike of 
national and family improvement. There are thousands 
of men to-day tramping the roads, lounging about saloons 
and perspiring in prisons, who might have been good cit- 
izens with loved homes and loving children, if they had in 
childhood known the blessing of moral homes where the 
lessons of virtue, frugality, and industry were taught, and 
if they had had their early sins placed out of their reach 
by law. There are thousands of noble women receiving 
taunts as old maids, who might have been loving wives to 
these men, had their teachings and surroundings kept 
them fit to receive honest love.” 

“But, Gessia, what’s the use of your worrying so? You 
cannot help the matter ; it is beyond your control ; you’ll 
just injure yourself.” 

“Oh! if I could only do a little toward bettering 
things ! I wish I had the strength of a giant to shout 
aloud ; but that I have not. But if I could only save one 
woman from such suffering as seems to be the common lot 
of woman, I would feel a little more reconciled to the hor- 
rors of life. But what chance is there? It is as you say 
— it is beyond my control. I am only one of suffering 
and helpless thousands, who are of a weak and subject 
class.” 

“ Then stop fretting, and cheer up.” 

“ The darkness of prison and the hopelessness of despair 
may indeed unnerve the arm to exertion, and still the wail 
of sorrow ; but because violence of action is thus restrained, 
does it necessarily follow that the bond-soul will exult, 
and that cheer will reign, because freedom and justice are 
impossible ? ” 

John looked wonderingly at her. What horrible things 
she was saying to him! The time was when no one 
would have dared to talk so to him ; but now as he sat 
looking at her, resentment was impossible. The great 
dark eyes and the colorless face with its lines of suffering 
awed him into respect and submission ; but the respect 
seemed that for some being not of earth, and the submis- 
sion seemed to be tendered to some dark and mysterious 
fate. His life was full of dreadful facts, yet he did not 
11 


162 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


now feel inclined to flee the presence of the woman who 
upbraided him. He felt as if he preferred to sit with 
bowed head in her presence and think. His stubborn 
heart was beginning to yield. He began to ask himself 
whether he would be satisfied with the share of life’s 
blessings that had been meted out to his wife. He was 
beginning to see that earth, as it is, can only give hopeless 
misery to sensitive, high-souled creatures; it is a fit home 
only i'or the callous and unthinking; would the era of 
coarseness ever give way ? 


CHAPTER XVI 1. 

THE COURSE OF EVENTS. 

During the weeks following the weddin’ dance, John 
Solomon did some intense thinking. The home for which 
he had hoped so much, was for some reason a failure. The 
bright, beautiful being whom he had induced to share his 
lot, had become a faded, careworn creature, the rustle of 
whose garments was painfully hke the waving of a shroud. 
The children shrank from him and clung crying and whin- 
ing to their mother’s skirts. They did not seem like the 
ordinary healthy children he had known ; Little Henry 
did not race about on his tiny feet and laugh and crow 
like a healthy child should ; Ralph did not ransack his 
father’s tool-boxes, and break up things, and run and 
shout till his throat seemed well nigh ready to burst. They 
trotted about after their mother as if they feared their 
father and distrusted the world. The house was sombre and 
forbidding ; and although the housekeeping and the cook- 
ing were faultless, John felt as if it were not home — as if 
he were a stranger there. One morning as he was repair- 
ing the fence of his lower pasture, the question which had 
long been forming in his mind appeared before him, all 
ready to assail him. He who would indulge in tlie 
thoughtless injustices and the social crimes of youth, must 
wholly dispense with that soul-prompter, Conscience ; he 
must become completely hardened. If he do not, the 
injustice which in some moment of fancied victory but 
real defeat he reaped upon his weaker neighbor, will aiise 


THE COURSE OF EVENTS. 


163 


in fearful forms to assail his pretensions to humanity ; the 
social tyranny, which in the triumph of masculine strength 
he visited upon one of the females of his kind, whom 
nature made weaker than himself and appointed him to 
protect, will madly assault his fine spun theories of 
equality and justice, and like a fiend, howl dismally 
through the mental tempest it raises. Our sin, after 
we have committed it, can never be vanquished ; it lives 
to assail us in a thousand different ways; it can not be 
recalled ; it will not down ; it grows, and with every year 
of advancing reason it assails us more fearfully, more 
remorselessly, until at last it lashes us into the grave, 
where the forgetfulness of death is our only balm. 

‘‘ What did you gain by that early sin ? ” asked the as- 
sailing questioner called Conscience. The thoughts all 
came back to him — every hated memory — and with fear- 
ful intensity. He remembered how his weakness had 
yielded to the persuations of others — how he had loathed 
the coarse, vulgar woman who had been his first associate 
— how he had pitied the shrinking, delicate creature who 
had been his second — how he had told Ike Ransom that his 
self-respect w^as going, and how Ike had slapped him on the 
shoulder and told him playfully that he was a greeny, and 
that time and experience would make that all right. But 
had time made it all right? One of the thoughts which 
he had so often commanded to still its voice, spoke again ; 
It was that of that same second associate, who a few weeks 
after his visit to her had, with her hand, stilled the throb- 
bing of her shamed and broken heart and been buried with 
tlie county; — and he had kissed her — had fondled and 
embraced her for his selfish, hated lust, but had not raised 
a hand to lift her out of her shame. And here was Gessia 
— pure, sweet, loved Gessia — dying by inches for his 
crimes ; here were his children, turning away, even from 
his smile, and shrinking from his touch — here was his 
home, dark and gloomy as a tomb, with the spectres of 
dead hopes stalking eternally through it. 

Then up sprung the opposite picture, which was a thous- 
and times more galling — the sweet, lost, never to be tasted 
might-have-been ; the lovely wife, with her fair hair flow- 
ing about her shoulders, running to meet him at noon and 
eventide, her dewy lips upturned for a loving kiss ; and 
after her, two shouting, laughing boys, each striving to be 
first to meet papa and have the highest perch upon his 


164 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


shoulder. He began to wonder if, after all, man’s greatest 
happiness was not to be found in liis home, his wife and 
children, and in clean and holy love. It was in vain now 
that he told himself that he was blameless because others 
set the example. It was no longer any comfort to assure 
himself that Gessia was foolish upon the subject ; for the 
other thought would come — that were she ever so fanat- 
ical on that subject, life might have been infinitely sweet 
with her if only he had been stainless. He could not 
work ; the pale face of his wife and his gloomy children 
haunted him ; he threw down his hammer and started for 
the house. Bitter thoughts of his mother arose ; why had 
she not trained him ? Why had she not put some of the 
care she had lavished upon his clothes, upon his soul? 
Why had not the laws of his country placed crime out of 
his reach ? 

The untaught nature that wishes to tyrannize because 
it loved itself more than aught else, that loves to torture 
because it desires to feel its own strength and investigate 
the capacity of suffering in another — that brutality be- 
queathed us by our ancestors of the cave, that bids us 
inflict pain on another that we may the more exult in our 
own strength and security, can only be defeated of its 
tyranny and directed into humanity, by the most careful 
training. The unthinking, ignorant child, who in the 
seclusion of some sheltered glade, gloats over the torture 
he wrings from the quivering flesh of some hapless frog, is 
obeying one of the instincts of his inherited nature ; he is 
exulting over and destroying that which is weaker than 
himself. He does not reason from himself to his victim ; 
he feels no remorse at the pain he is inflicting, because it is 
felt by another creature and not by himself. He does not 
reason that the time may come when he, also, may meet 
a conqueror. Against this inhuman inheritance there is 
but one bulwark ; — the influence of human reason, experi- 
ence, and sympathy, as taught to the youth of the race, by 
nature’s great improver, the parent. One of these parents 
must, like the father-bird, leave the home nest to seek for 
food ; the heavy responsibility of changing the brute in- 
stincts of childhood into the glorious reason of man must 
devolve almost entirely upon the mother ; and just in 
proportion as she is strong, forewarned, capable, noble, and 
happy, just in that proportion will the race be trained 
out of its brutality. The child whose evil nature is not 


THE COURSE OF EVENTS. 


16 o 


suppressed, whose selfishness is not brought under the cont rol 
of his reason, whose desire to bend others to his will is not 
scattered by a perception of the rights of his fellows, will 
find his blindness to justice outgrowing his physical body. 
There is hope for the selfish, unlovable child — he may 
be trained ; but he who has grown old in blindness, pre- 
judice, and unreason, will seldom open his eyes and see. 

The being whose youth was not tenderly nurtured wdll, 
be he ever so callous, suffer fearfully for his lack of percep- 
tion. In his march through life he will encounter many 
creatures ; some of these he will love, but his instinct of 
unreasoning conquest wall nevertheless destroy them. He 
has not learned that there are individualities different from 
his own — he would bend those he loves to his own 
tyrant will ; and thus he crushes what he would enjoy. 
Selfishness and tyranny ever defeat their own ends. The 
despot is followed by the mute hate of his victims ; he 
perceives that none love him; he comes to view the world 
from his own soulless standpoint ; and his unloved, unlov- 
ing heart withers within him and dies. What might have 
been the sublimest heroism, the most resplendent knight- 
hood, becomes through opportunity for crime and lack of 
training, the most sordid and self-destroying tyranny. 
But while the females of the race receive the treatment and 
the training that are now meted out to them, we can hope 
for little improvement in their offspring. 

The awakening of John Solomon had been slow in coming ; 
it had not been brought about altogether by the arguments 
to which he had listened ; the foreshadowing of a fearful 
event did much toward it. It w^as not so much the injus- 
tice he had done a class that sickened his heart, as it was 
the presaging of calamity to himself and his happiness. 
Charity for him, reader ; he had been allowed to grow up 
thinking only of self. He found his wife standing in the 
middle of the kitchen with her hands on the back of a 
chair, looking straight ahead of her. The two little boys 
played with blocks at her feet. The mother’s look was 
deep and intense, as if she w'ere regarding some fearful 
drama, 

“Gessia,” said John, “what is the matter?” His 
voice trembled until it surprised him. 

She looked slowly round as if recovering from a dream. 

“ Oh,” she said ; “ I was thinking.” 

^ But you ought not to think so much, Gessia. You 


166 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


are not strong anyhow, and you think on such gloomy 
subjects that you worry yourself.” 

“ Why should I not think ?” she said, wearily. ‘‘ After 
all, one had better think of a horror tlian to suffer it ; it 
always gains some terror, however little, by becoming a 
fact.” 

“ Oh, Gessia, don’t be so gloomy. I’ve done wrong, and 
I admit it. Why can’t you forgive me ? ” 

“ I do,” said the wife, quietly ; but the gloom upon her 
face was as heavy as ever. 

“Then don’t look that way ; cheer up and be happy.” 

“ That I can never do. I know that I have forgiven 
you, because I have ceased to harbor resentment ; but my 
chance of happiness is lost forever.” 

“Oh, Gessia;^* he half sobbed. “WTiy cannot you 
give up when you know that I have repented ? ” 

“ John,” she said ; “ I do not want to seem hard- 
hearted, but it is as I say. I can never be happy. Your 
repentance becomes you, and you are dearer to me because 
of it ; but no amount of repentance can destroy the effects 
of a wrong once done. The time to repent for an evil 
deed is before it is committed. Do not think that I 
undervalue your repentance — I do not — it is the best you 
can do now; but as to its practical utility, it is quite as 
useless as tliat of the murderer after he has drawn the life 
blood from his victim. !No amount of remorse can call 
back the life once taken, and no ocean of repentant tears 
can cement again the fibres of a broken heart.” 

“But there’s one thing I can not understand,” said 
John. “Lots of men have done far worse than I have, 
and yet have lived happily. I do not see why I should be 
miserable always just for that little mistake.’^ 

“ You should indeed be happy, for a life-misery is in 
nearly all cases a mistake ; but not with such as I. You 
should have taken one of your own kind ; one who like 
yourself was stained. It is not right for such as you to 
wed with such as I, and the custom of a thousand ages 
can not make it so. If indeed you were determined to 
have a pure woman, you should have told her plainly that 
you were unclean, and given her the chance of withdraw- 
ing before she was bound. If you had told me before 
marriage, I w^ould at least have given you the credit for 
being honest ; but now I can only pity you as a deeply 
erring man. As to what you say concerning others being 


THE COURSE OF EVENTS. 


167 


worse than you and yet being happy, I can only say this. 
It is natural for us to point to some one who is 
more persistent in his sins than ourselves, and say 
that he is worse than we are. But is he? Have 
we a right to make grades in the same crime? Perhaps 
the very moral sense which restrained us — which permit- 
ted us to sin only to a limited extent — was entirely absent 
from our brother who sinned to excess. In that case we 
are far worse than he, for we sinned in spite of the warn- 
ing voice that called upon us to refrain. We cannot con- 
scientiously blame a sinner unless we be wholly free from 
his sin.** 

“ But, Gessia — we must — you must — allow for the 
teachings of the w'orld.** 

“ If all men from the beginning of time had listened 
and yielded to the teachings of the world, there would 
have been no advancement, no law. We all listen to both 
good and evil advice, and it is only he who rejects the bad, 
accepts the good, and adds to it new dignity by his own 
determined morality, that is wortliy to be a teacher of his 
fellow men or a companion for a virtuous person. Per- 
haps we may receive more evil counsel than good ; and 
because this is so, we must ourselves learn to distinguish 
the false from the true. Therein lies our only protection 
from sin ; and the ability so to distinguish, constitutes the 
difference between the saint and the criminal. I know as 
well as you that chances and opportunities are all unequal 
— that tlie man 'v\dth careless or criminal parents can not 
have the advantages of the one with a virtuous and holy 
mother ; but even after making all these allowances we 
must admit that it is not right for the virtuous and the 
vicious to wed together. They can only make each other 
unhappy. They breathe different atmospheres ; and the 
good can no more understand the moral apathy of the 
bad, than the bad can appreciate the sublime heroism of 
his companion. If any real companionship be reached, it 
must in nearly all cases be arrived at by the fine one 
growing coarse ; it is not likely that the heart that has 
grown up in an atmosphere of callousness and vice should 
change. Tliough outward influences may cause the of- 
fender to throw a veil around his defects of heart and 
soul, still they are there, and there they will be forever. 
In youth, the world*s heroes are made or marred.** 


168 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


‘^According to that, Gessia, the mothers of men might 
make the race divine if they wished to.” 

“ The mothers of our race are made what they are by 
our civilization. That institution demands that a large 
number of the women shall cease to have family ties, and 
exist only to cool the lust of the males ; it demands that 
those who remain pure shall be comparatively ignorant, shall 
paint their faces, study naught but drudgery and dress, 
and devote their energies to catch a husband, regardless of 
his morals or his mentals. No matter how bad, how 
worthless, how improvident the man she marries, she is 
considered more honorable so married, than to be ever so 
noble and intelligent in spinsterhood. That same civiliza- 
tion demands that after marriage she shall listen smilingly 
to the story of her husband’s shame, and consent to bear 
and rear up children whose very birth is a disgrace. She 
must not allow her mind to drift to politics, morals, or 
great questions of state, on pain of being called strong- 
minded. She must only interest herself in the fashion 
plate or in the neighborhood scandal; she obeys these 
hideous rules, for society presses her to them. What is 
she? Her virtues are the virtues of dependents and 
underlings, and her faults are the faults of slaves. Her 
virtues are submission and weakness ; and her faults are 
love of scandal, deceit, and small dishonesties. She is 
what your civilization has made her. Judge, yourself, of 
her ability to train youth. But amid all this evil teach- 
ing, all the links of tyrannic custom’s chain have not com- 
pletely held her down. A few women are always found 
who are struggling against the adverse waves of public 
opinion, and bringing up noble children. 

Such a state of society as ours — a state in which the 
members of one sex must march from the cradle to the grave 
carrying the brand of a hopeless inferiority, limitation of 
privilege, and under a constant and galling surveillance 
not visited upon their so called superiors, is a failure, and a 
mockery to the name of civilization. Such a sex had 
better pass out of existence — such creatures had better 
become extinct. It were far better that there be no nerves, 
than that nerves exist only to quiver at continual pain ; 
better that there be no feminine minds than that they exist 
only to suffer endless persecution. 

“ Under such a system as ours, no wise person can mourn 
<he death of a female child. Death is the greatest blessing 


THE COURSE OF EVENTS. 


169 


that can crown her. Should she live, she is in danger of 
ending her days in one of your licensed hells ; she is in 
constant danger of insult and ruin from those you call her 
protectors ; she is in danger of what you consider the dis- 
grace of spinsterhood. If she should be compelled to earn 
her bread she must take less wages than she would get if 
she were a man ; if she marries, she must become an acces- 
sory to some man’s shame. The world holds nothing for 
her; the grave is her only home.” 

“ Oh, I know, Gessia, that the women do have a hard 
time ; I’m sorry for them. I’d like to see them treated 
better ; but then I think they ought to be satisfied with their 
place in the home, provided, of course, they’re treated well.” 

“ So do I. Woman cannot possibly ask any higher 
station than the home, provided it is a home, and not a 
prison. Marriage is her sphere, and every woman should 
be a wife and mother, just as every man should be a husband 
and father ; and were our civilization what it should be, 
this would be possible. Marriage should be the loftiest of 
earthly possibilities. It should be holy and eternal ; it 
should be a union so perfect that the united pair could 
laugh in derision at the poisoned arrows of slander and 
smile at the reverses of fate. It should be broken by 
nothing but death, and even this should never cause a loved 
one to pass into nothingness. It should be the republic of 
love, where tyranny is a locked out stranger, and where 
shame and suspicion never enter. If one companion wish 
the subjection of the other, why not bring it about through 
perfect love and not with the tyranny, ‘ I am stronger than 
thou.* But the marriage of unequals, such as our civili- 
zation encourages, is a prison, where dungeon bars let in 
the struggling light to tell us of the happiness and liberty 
left behind. The portals of marriage are wreathed with 
fiowers, but we pass within and find the woe and hopeless- 
ness of the tomb, where the air is heavy with the stench 
of dead, decaying love. But we must submit ; society and 
custom force us through the portals — we must enter, or 
stand mocked and ridiculed without. Neither nobility of 
heart, nor grace of mind, can make the world forget that 
we are women.” 

“ But, Gessia, you must admit that women are inferior 
to men mentally. With only a few exceptions, they have 
never been great in philosophy, mathematics or letters. 


170 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


No one would expect to see a female Bacon or Shakespeare. 
I am afraid, Gessia, that they are inferiors in some ways.” 

“ I am not afraid of it,” said Gessia, sadly ; “ I know it. 
Our parents, the laws of our country, the customs of ages, 
have made us so. Fi-om our very cradles we have been 
restrained and held back. Our education has been 
hampered and curtailed in every possible manner ; weak- 
nesses and trivialities have been bred into us for ages. 
Who would look for the greatest mental lights of a nation 
among its slaves, its dependents, or at best its petted 
children ? Though the seed of intellect be ever so strong 
it cannot flourish without warmth and light and room. A 
few women who have had a small allowance of these genial 
provisions have become mental giants, and what argument 
have you to offer why more of them should not ? Yes, in 
spite of the efforts of custom to hold us back, we have 
occasionally struggled to the front, and that to, in every 
profession. With all the claims of custom and all the 
shackles of tradition upon us, you have not always been 
able to keep ahead ; give us equality before the law, and 
then you will cease to taunt us with the inferiority that will 
no longer shadow us. You fear to do this. The college 
prizes that are passing out of your hands, and the eminence 
we are attaining in the professions, make you tremble for 
your boasted superiority.” 

“ Oh, I know that the women haven’t had a fair chance, 
but then we can’t help that. This matter about our home 
interests me more. 1 can’t believe it’s right that we should 
be miserable always for what has passed. I think that 
when I repent that I ought to be forgiven and made happy. 
When it’s impossible to stop a bad thing, the best way is to 
go on and pay no attention to it.” 

‘‘A great wrong grows from inattention. It seizes 
upon the apathy of the public as the opportunity to become 
strong, so that it may have power to resist public opinion 
should it awaken. It must be unmasked and held up to 
the gaze of men, where its hideousness will be an argu- 
ment in favor of its destruction, even though its fangs 
strike death to those who strip off* its mask. The hydra 
must be strangled — its heads must be wrested off* and its 
necks singed with the flame of public indignation, ere it dies. 

“As to your repentance, if it could drown the memory 
of impure associations, if it could remove the pollution 
from your touch, I could again be happy. Your repentance 


THE COURSE OF EVENTS. 


171 


renders you holy, but it is a distant holiness ; my joy at it 
is more like rejoicing that a beloved friend, who had gone 
astray, has returned, than like a love for a husband who is 
to be worshiped as a hero and looked up to as a moral guide. 
All your kindness to me cannot right your wrongs to tliose 
other women. You are not, and never can be, what you 
were before your fall. I for one, do not love the parable 
of the prodigal son. It was right that the sinner betaken 
back, that he be forgiven if he sincerely wished to improve ; 
but it was not right that he be made the equal or the 
superior of him who went not astray. No amount of 
repentance can bring back the life the murderer has 
destroyed, or put back in empty veins the blood he has shed ; 
or re-instate in the heart of the maiden tlie purity the 
seducer has sullied. I believe that that one story, with 
the encouragement it has had from thoughtless persons, 
has ruined thousands who halted between evil and good, 
and hundreds who sinned against will and conscience, 
merely because it was the popular thing to do.” 

“ O, Gessia, I know it ! ” wailed her husband. “The 
truth is, we men have always had the power and we have 
used it like brutes. And what you said about the influence 
of others leading men astray, is too true. When I first 
told you this, I tried to brave it out and pretend it was 
necessary. I never uttered a worse slander upon truth. I 
have seen plenty of men wdio loved vice, but I was not one 
of them. I know that no girl ever left the scene of her 
first shame with more fierce self-reproach and regret than 
did I, I despised myself, and it was useless to try to 
quiet my conscience by assuring myself that I had a right 
to do as others did. But because my companions so com- 
manded, I kept on with my sin, and talked loudly in favor 
of brutal license. I was a coward and a weakling, and 
my remorse will last as long as my life ; and the foulest 
Hell I can picture is an eternity of the memory that has 
become a torture to me. 

“ But Gessia, it is I who ought to suffer, and not you. I 
know that I am a disgrace to you, but you are killing your- 
self with worrying about me, and I am not worthy of your 
lightest thought.” 

Gessia heaved a long sigh. Finally she said : “ John, 
I believe it is far harder to survive the death of faith in 
those we love, than it would be to survive their personal 
loss. The grave is fearful — but it is no crime, no dis- 


172 


THE PATE OP A POOL. 


grace.” Then she came and sat upon his knee and 
pressed her lips to his face — the first willing caress she had 
given him since he had made his revelation. He pressed 
her in his arms and groaned aloud. 

“ 0, Gessia, don’t worry so,” he pleaded. This fine 
moral sentiment can only make you miserable.” 

She looked up at him ; her great eyes overflowed with 
tears that coursed down her wasted cheeks. She pressed 
her thin hand against his face and said : 

The fine moral sentiment you speak of is our only 
hope for improvement ; it is ridiculed by one generation, 
persecuted by the next, tolerated by the next, it becomes 
public opinion for the next, and finally it becomes law. 
Some must suffer in the fires of persecution in every age 
that the next age maybe nobler and holier. If we coolly 
accept the indulgences and pleasures that the world pre- 
pares for us, without asking whom they punish, incom- 
mode, or destroy, we may indeed be innocent of criminal 
intention, but we are in reality, unthinking despots. He 
who thinks only of the present can be neither patriot nor 
philanthropist ; he who would benefit mankind must look 
more to to-morrow than to to-day.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

REST. 

Let the reader pause before he pronounces Gessia Solo- 
mon hard-hearted or unforgiving. She felt very much as 
a high-minded, virtuous man would have felt, had he found 
himself deceived by and married to a stale article of 
womanhood. She felt that she ought to foi-give the one 
who had wronged her; but she was not ready to ac- 
cept the position of rival to the fallen. She w'ould 
have rejoiced to stand at a distance and see John happy 
and contented with some one of the creatures who had the 
best right to him ; but she did not feel tliat her forgiveness 
should be made to lower herself. She was certainly a 
fool, because she insisted upon what, in our present 
glorious state of civilization, is well-nigli impossible j but 


REST. 173 

she was a sweet and tender-hearted fool, who mourned far 
more than she hated. 

She believed that it* our civilization pause where it is, 
that it is a misfortune rather than a benefit ; that it was 
better for man to browse ofi* of the leaves and eat of the 
uncooked fruit of trees, and shiver uncovered at the 
fierce breath of winter, regardless alike of the future 
and the past, unknown to shame and ignorant of virtue, 
than to be educated up to a point that renders in- 
tense suffering possible, and live under a system that 
makes such suffering unavoidable. She believed thr.t 
when once the foundation of a noble mansion is laid, that 
the workmen should toil unceasingly until the last tile is 
firmly fitted upon the roof. She saw no good to come 
from laying marble floors, erecting splendid pillars, cover- 
ing lofty walls with rare painting and fresco, fashioning 
curious woods into grand finishings and placing fairy-like 
statues within, only to leave all uncovered to summer^s 
alternate rain and sun, and to winter’s icy breath. And 
if the senseless, unfeeling stone and w^ood should be 
sheltered, how much more does the noble, heroic soul, 
wdth all its capacity for anguish and suffering, need pro- 
tection. Better that the house be not builded than that 
it be abandoned just in time to insure its spoliation; and 
better that civilization had not begun, than that it pause 
just in time to insure infinite misery to the noble and sen- 
sitive. She also believed that no matter how grand hu- 
manity might in future become, that it could still find 
room for improvement, and that he who announced that 
no further progress could be made, would be a deeply- 
mistaken man. 

She believed that in such a system as ours, wdiere there 
is no effort made to make the bridegroom fit for marriage, 
that a happy union is merely an accident, and that such 
accidents are exceedingly rare. She believed that there 
are direct causes for aU effects, and that all the sad-faced 
wives who so often fill untimely graves, all the irritable, 
impatient, vicious, children are the natural outcome of a 
system which encourages the husband and father to boast 
his shame. 

Gessia was failing fast ; her face could grow no whiter 
but it was growing thinner ; her yellow hair had faded — 
it had become ashen. Her step was lighter and slower. 
John watched her narrowly ; what if after all it should 


174 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


happen ? He cried aloud in anguish at the very thought, 
and his life rose before him like a fiendish drama. When 
we see our mean and thoughtless acts arming themselves 
to attack us, to lay waste our hopes, or to destroy that 
which we would cherish, we would gladly call them back 
— we do not care to read the last chapters of their history. 
We thought that because it was we who committed them 
that there would be a savor of romance and independence 
about them — they would save us from being considered 
slow — their effect would be altogether different from what 
it would have been had our neighbor, John Smith, com- 
mitted them ; because, you know, John had no discernment, 
and did not know how to manage. We are inclined to 
lose some of our abundant faith in ourselves, when, in 
after years, we learn that John worried along about as 
well as we did. 

The horrible fear that Ike Ransom’s teachings might 
prove a total failure arose again before the pasture fence 
was finished; again John Solomon threw down his tools 
and hurried to the house. He found Gessia tottering over 
the floor attending to her baking ; he sprang forward and 
caught the stooping figure in his arms ; then old memories 
crowded up — memories of that sweet, last' time when he 
had felt her soft arm about his neck and her warm breath 
against his cheek ; he groaned and sobbed and called down 
bitter curses upon his head, and felt, to its fullest extent, 
the anguish of him who battles for the impossible. 

‘‘ Gessia,” he said, as soon as he could control his voice, 
‘‘you must quit working. I am going to get a girl to do 
the work this very day.” 

“ Yes, John,” she answered, softly, as her head sunk 
upon his shoulder, “you may. I am too weak to work.” 

“ Oh, Gessia, I’d have got one long ago, if you had let 
me.” 

“ I am willing now. I am so tired.” 

“ You must lie down, and I will finish dinner,” he said, 
as he lifted her in his arms and bore her into the bed- 
room. She did not answer, but as he placed her upon the 
bed and arranged the pillow and clothes for her comfort, 
she smiled sadly, as if to thank him. 

“ Oh ! Oh ! ” she murmured, as she raised her thin hand 
to stroke his sleeve. 

“What is it, darling?” But the answer was only a 
repetition of that groan, as if it were a last effort to sup 


REST. 175 

press the thought of the might have been. Then she 
wearily closed her eyes, and fell into a heavy sleep. 

John wrestled with the kitchen work until he had pre- 
pared a sort of dinner for the hired man ; then without 
eating a mouthful, he called in Sallie Hatton to look after 
things, and hurried to town. Let us not give the name of 
cruelty to that feeling which prompts us to seek to 
prolong the life which can only be miserable. We hope 
that something will happen to prevent us looking on at the 
last scene of our thoughtless drama. But we may not 
recall the past, and since what is now the present will one 
day be the past, let us struggle to keep its page spotless. 

John brought out his mother, a physician, and a hired 
girl. He had great faith in his mother theoretically, and 
none at all practically. He had received so much valuable 
advice from his parents, his books, and the world generally, 
concerning his duty to his mother, that he was exceedingly 
anxious to treat her well, though personally she was quite 
disagreeable to him. He never wanted her to hear of any 
of his misdeeds, as they might hurt her pride ; though he 
had been able to boast of them with the greatest freedom 
to the being who depended upon him for all her earthly 
bliss. At the time of his marriage he had impressed upon 
Gessia’s mind, with great firmness, the fact that he wished 
her to be kind and forbearing to his mother. He began 
now to think that if the world should make some little en- 
deavor to teach a man kindness to his wife, that the effect 
might be wholesome ; he thought that perhaps his mother 
had depended upon his father for the greater share of her 
happiness, and that her son might have been an after-con- 
sideration. He remembered that when he married, he 
had thought far more of the happiness he might obtain 
through the union with Gessia than of that to be realized 
from the children of the union. Then many women died 
while their sons were in their infancy — in that case would 
a little kindness from their husbands be totally lost? 
Again, the mother must always be more or less responsible 
for the disrespect of her son, and in some cases might be 
supposed to deserve a little of it ; but the bride has had no 
hand in the bringing-up of her bridegroom, and certainly 
deserves no ill-treatment until she has done something to 
merit it. Might not a little of the literature that bespeaks 
in so earnest a tone respect for the mother, be spared to 
the cause of the wife? Should not a young man be taught 


176 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


to make himself worthy of a good wife as well as to be kind 
and respectful to a good mother ? 

It is painful to a woman — a real woman — to contem- 
plate a thoroughly callous and hardened female of the re- 
spectable class, such as our system produces by thousands. 
Mrs. Solomon senior was such a woman ; her morals con- 
sisted in fear of what people would say; her life-study 
was what “ they ” were wearing ; her sympathy all clus- 
tered round the wealthy and the popular. She had not 
the slightest idea of a noble moral standard ; she was a 
woman of the world. She wanted John and Gessia to 
live on their ranch until by hard work they had accumu- 
lated a large fortune ; then they were to move to Milroy 
City, build a fine house, keep servants, and put on style in 
a manner to reflect glory upon her. 

She was much disappointed to hear of Gessia’s illness ; 
now there would be a big doctor bill to pay, a girl to hire, 
and the girl would waste things ; so that the moving to 
town would be delayed. Then there was no credit to be 
obtained from keeping a hired girl in the country — no one 
would hear of it ; why couldn’t Gessia have stayed well 
till she got to Milroy City, where everyone would learn 
that she was able to keep a servant ? Gessia ought to look 
after herself better ; — so far as she was concerned, she 
never did like the match, but then John wouldn’t take her 
advice. She intended to give Gessia a good talking to 
about taking care of herself — there was no telling the 
money she might cost John if she kept on being sick. 

As we have said, John’s personal affection for his mother 
was very small. She had kept his clothes clean, had fed 
him well, and had sent him to school ; she had also sent 
him out to play so she could gossip and embroider to bet- 
ter purpose. But he ransacked his mind in vain for the 
memory of a time when she had taken him upon her knee, 
and talked to him, as only a mother can, of his duty to 
others, of the rights of the weak, and of the subtle dan- 
gers that beset the mind and heart of youth on every hand. 
He remembered his own natural modesty, and thought how 
a word from his mother, spoken at the right time, might 
have saved for happiness the sinking partner of his life. 
His mother had failed of her duty, and another was dying 
because thereof. But wait — society had also failed in its 
duty to his mother ; it had not required her to be better 
than she was. 


REST. 


177 


The doctor pronounced Gessia’s trouble nervous pros- 
tration ; — he recommended complete rest and entire ab- 
sence of excitement. Tlie elder Mrs. Solomon, however, 
had a different opinion — it was a plan to shirk the sum- 
mer’s work. 

Gessia slept quietly all night, but when John awoke in 
the morning she was awake ; there was almost a smile 
upon her face. 

“ What are you thinking about, dear ? ” he asked. 

‘‘I am studying the problem of life,” she said. “I 
cannot believe, John, that things are to be this vray 
always. I can see a glimpse of a time, far in the future, 
when women can walk and talk with men and feel them- 
selves indeed protected ; when wit shall take the place of 
coarseness, and when honest mirth shall succeed lewdness ; 
when this coarse sin shall be forgotten, and when every 
human creature shall rejoice in married love. Oh, John, I 
feel that however much our secret and wicked thoughts 
may wander, that we can only gain excellence, only im- 
prove ourselves and our race, by resolute self-conquest, 
and by controlling our natures instead of allowing them to 
control us. Those thoughts, those passions, we have in- 
herited from beasts — we must conquer them or they will 
conquer us. After one partner in the holy marriage union 
has admitted to the other that he has even thought of 
another person, other than the wedded one, in the light of 
the relation that belongs to marriage alone, there can 
never more be a perfect love, a perfect union. Sorrow 
and bitterness will reign in the listener’s bosom, however 
resolutely she may battle to keep them in subjection ; it is 
but nature that the wedded one should wisli to be the first 
and only one. Oh, if woman could reign supreme in the 
hearts of her husband and children she need ask no other 
empire. And Oh, John, in the future which I am afraid 
will be dark for you, use your strength to help lift the 
yoke from our necks ; it is not the ballot I ask you to 
work for — let others interest themselves in that if they 

will but do try to do what you can to stop this pollution 

of the home. Think how vice makes women suffer ; think 
how—” 

Oh, Gessia! Now you know you are not fit to talk ; 
just consider a little ; how much do you suppose I will 
care for life if you are not here ? ” 

‘‘There was a time when you did wdthout me; the 

12 


178 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


time is coming again. I have given you only sorrow 
and this I deeply regret; but 1 have loved you as I 
never loved another creature. My sorrow at what you 
did was part of my nature; I have suffered fearfully, 
but I had rather suffer it all ten times over than to 
know myself hard and callous and unfeeling. I have 
said cruel things to you — I am sorry for them, for 
they wounded you and did r.o good ; but if you had known 
how I was suffering, you would have thought them mild. 
I can see that in such a world as this, I had no right to such 
opinions — that they have only made me suffer ; but, John, 
I would rather have been the martyr standing chained to 
the stake, with the breath of flame about me, than to have 
been one of the hooting, jeering multitude who looked on 
and mocked and kissed and reviled.” 

“ Gessia, you are just giving up ; you are not trying to 
live ; I am going right after the doctor,” said John, as he 
hurriedly began to dress. Then he added : ‘‘ Tell me 
something I can do for you, Gessia; anything — just any- 
thing ! ” 

‘‘ I would like to see Mr. and Mrs. Blakesly.” 

“ Oh, dear ! Mother will make such a fuss. But 
never mind,” he added, hurriedly; “you shall see them, 
if it raises the roof. I’ll go right off after breakfast.” 

When he entered the kitchen he found his mother guid- 
ing the hired girl in the preparation of breakfast. He 
resolved to fight his battle in the early morning while his 
courage was sure. 

“How is Gessia?” asked his mother, shortly. 

“ She is about the same ; and I’m going after Mr. and 
Mrs. Blakesly as soon as breakfast is over.” 

“Why, John,” she said, in a high key, “everybody’ll 
just talk.” 

“ Let ’em talk and be d — d ! ” said John, in a moment 
of uncontrollable enthusiasm. 

“ That’s a nice way to talk to your mother ! And I’ll 
not stay in the house if they come here. The kind of 
places they go to!” 

“Well, mother, I did wrong to speak so to you, but 
then I shall do as Gessia likes in this matter. It is she 
who wants to talk to them, and she never desired a wrong 
thing in her life.” 

“ Gessia is great works ! Lying around sick ar^wasting 
your property ! Y our mother isn’t any thi ng ! ” 


REST. 


179 


John felt very much like saying that if his mother had 
done her duty he would have been a far different man, and 
Gessia a happy, useful woman ; but he kept silence — she 
was his mother ; he hurried away to attend to his feeding. 
When he returned, he found his mother recovered of her 
ill-humor. 

“ Did you intend to go for Mr. Blakesly yourself, or 
did you think of sending some one ? ” she asked. 

‘‘ I intend to go myself.” 

“Well, maybe you had better stay with Gessia. I 
ought to go home this morning to water my geraniums ; 
your hired man could take me in, and we could bring the 
Blakeslys out, if you are determined to have them.” 

“Very well. That will suit me,” said John. He then 
advanced to the table and filled a plate with food and car- 
ried it into the bed-room, whither he was followed by his 
mother. The two children had awakened. Ralph had 
climbed upon his mother’s bed, and little Henry was out 
of his trundle-bed, crying because he could not climb up 
also. 

“How do you find yourself this morning, Gessia ? ” 
asked the elder Mrs. Solomon, sharply. 

“ Oh, I am so tired,” was the quiet answer. 

“ Well, now, eat some breakfast. I saw that it was 
cooked right. Eat a good meal now, and then get up and 
take some exercise. If you just give up, you are liable to 
lie there all summer.” 

“ No, not here — not here,” was the quiet answer. But 
the hard old woman did not understand. 

“ Then eat something, and try to do something for your- 
self,” she said. 

“Mother,” said John, sternly, “the doctor said she was 
not to be excited.” 

“ Oh, well, look after your sick yourself, then. I see 
you don’t want me;” and the old woman swept out of the 
room and took up her quarters in the kitchen, where she 
at once began to make things lively for the hired girl. 

Gessia ate but little breakfast, but she thanked her 
husband with her eyes when he arranged her pillow and 
bathed her face with some of the cool water from the 
spring. 

“ I am afraid the children will want to be on the bed 
with me again to-day,” she said, “and of course I had 
rather have them here than to have them cry. But watch 


180 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


them, John, and do not let them play too rough; I am so 
weak, and my very flesh seems sore. Poor little things ! ” 
she added, with a tremulous sigh ; then she sank back on 
her pillow. 

The elder Mrs. Solomon was off* for town early ; she 
was very cheerful, for she had a great scheme in her 
mind. Since John and Gessia were young and foolish and 
did not know what they wanted nor what was best for them, 
she would take the reins of government in her own hands 
for a brief season. She did not intend to have her family 
disgraced for all time to come by calling in the Blakeslys to 
talk to her daughter-in-law when she was sick. No, indeed! 
She would bring her own minister, the eminently respect- 
able Mr. Sharp ; and she felt very proud to think how she 
was saving her son’s credit. It happened that she and the 
hired man and the Rev. Mr. Sharp — another hired man — 
hired to preach the gospel of humility while he was a 
proud tyrant at heart — arrived at the ranch just as dinner 
was being placed on the table. 

John was surprised when he saw the Rev. Sharp, but 
of course he did not doubt his mother. 

^^Was Mr. Blakesly sick?” he asked, in a low tone, as 
he drew his mother aside. 

Mrs. Solomon perked up her face. don’t know 
whether he was or not,” she said. “I don’t pay any atten- 
tion to such as him. He don’t act respectable, and I 
I brought out a man that does.” 

“ Do you eall this truth, religion, honesty, mother?” he 
asked, bitterly. 

“ I am not arguing that ; I’m not going to have a man 
that isn’t respectable around where I am, and that’s all 
there is to it,” she snapped as she went into tlie parlor, 
where Mr. Sharp was brushing his shining black silk hat. 

Our own little peculiarities never show themselves to us 
in such an unlovely light as when we see them displayed 
in those around us. John had deceived and tyrannized 
over his wife under the impression that he was making her 
more capable of enjoying life ; but when his mother tried 
the same plan with him it did not take him quite so long 
a time to perceive the error. An individual can very fre- 
quently make an effective study of his own meanness from 
two sources outside himself — his parents and his chil- 
dren. When he sees his deception, dishonesty, or vice dis- 
played in his mother, it is a particularly disagreeable sub- 


tlESt. 


181 


Ject to contemplate; and wlien lie sees his elegant 
money-catching or social conquest lie, developing into the 
■wildest genius for mendacity in his eldest son, or his much- 
loved sexual sins cropping out in his petted daughter, the 
subject becomes still more unpleasant. It has never occur- 
red to him that by carefully trying to improve his mother’s 
son he might also improve his children’s father, and 
through him, his children. John Solomon, like a very 
large number of his brother mortals, had a peculiar talent 
for observing the truth after it was too late for him to 
receive benefit from it. 

“Sit up to dinner, everybody,” shouted John, from the 
kitchen. “I’m not feeling well and do not want to eat.” 
Then as the alien company drew around the table he went 
into the bed-room with a lowering brow. 

“Gessia,” he said, hoarsely, “mother has tricked us, 
and has brought out that old reprobate that preaches souls 
to Hell in her church ; if you don’t want to see him, you 
need not. I’ll stand by you.” Then he told the whole 
story. A little of the old playfulness that years ago had 
lighted up her face, returned to it. “ He is in our house,” 
she said, “ and we must not be rude. I’ll see him. He 
wdll probably make some amusement for me.” The 
two children, with their hands full of bread and butter, 
nestled close to their mother, and John was alone with his 
family and the bitter tortures of his soul. Aliens were in 
his house — were at his table — his own ill-starred family 
was crowded to the wall — and all seemed but a foreshad- 
owing of a future filled with horrible facts and frightful 
memories. And yet — Oh, we might tramp our dreary 
deserts with more strength and courage, were it not for the 
green pastures of the mirage, ever floating before us, 
taunting, maddening, and bewildering our senses — which 
we know we will never reach, never enjoy — the sweet and 
delusive might-have-been. 

In the course of half an hour there came a rustling 
sound, followed by the entrance of Mrs. Solomon and the 
Rev. Sharp. The latter had been warned by the former 
that Gessia needed advice concerning energy for this life ; 
but Mr. Sharp had had a good dinner, and just after a 
square meal he found it impossible to view favorably the 
misfortunes of anyone else — why did not they look after 
themselves as well as he looked after himself? He 
advanced to the bed and shook hands. 


182 


THE FAT^ OP A Foot. 


“ Sister Solomon,” he said, very gravely, I am very sorry 
to see you looking so pale and thin. Have you reconciled 
your soul to God ? ” 

“ I am afraid not,” answered Gessia* with a little of her 
old playful spirit. 

“ Then, my sister, it is high time you did so. God is 
merciful to those who repent their sins, but those who 
refuse to acknowledge their guilt are visited with eternal 
banishment from his presence. Hell is not so full to-day 
of criminals, as of unrepentant sinners.” 

“And what is your objection to hell?” she asked, with 
a quiet smile. 

“ Hell is a place of fearful suffering, of endless misery, 
of weeping and wailing and woe.” 

“ You have given an excellent description of earth. Do 
you think hell is any worse than this world ? ” she asked, 
quietly. 

“ Madame, you blaspheme ! ” he shrieked. “ Hell is the 
place that God has set apart for the punishment of the 
damned. And he will punish fearfully those who revile 
his holy religion.” 

“If,” said Gessia, as the playfulness left her face, “if it 
is any worse than this world, any fuller of injustice, of 
wailing cries of the helpless, of outraged, crushed human- 
ity, of proud, regnant, triumphant crime, I should like to 
see it, just as a matter of curiosity. But,” she added as 
heavy shadows darkened her face, “ I do not believe it. I 
do not believe that a God of infinite goodness ever 
fashioned for the punishment of his creatures a place more 
horrible than this. For here, life holds out bright pros- 
pects, fair as roses and pure as violets ; but when we grasp 
them, we find that the roses hide thorns that pierce us to 
the heart, and the violets conceal serpents that sting us to 
death. I am tired ; let me sleep.” 

There was nothing for the discomfitted aliens to do but 
to withdraw, and they withdrew. 

The Rev. Mr. Sharp went home as fast as the hired 
man could drive the horses, and the elder Mrs. Solomon, 
who was angiy at the treatment received by her pastor, 
went also. She would attend to her geranimus in future, 
and not bother her head about such an ungrateful creature 
as John’s wife. 

Gessia slept. The children played about on the bed or 
took little naps beside their pallid mother. John sat and 


kEST. 183 

watched it all and wondered if the world held many such 
tragedies as this, or many such criminals as himself. 

Just as the sun was setting, Gessia awoke. “I did 
wrong to talk to the minister that way, John,’’ she said, 
“but when he came in, I got to thinking over his career 
and it made me loathe him. How he worked all last 
winter, and begged money from people whose children 
did not have enough clothes to wear, just to build the 
spire of his church higher ; putting money into stone and 
mortar and iron wdiile humanity was crying, within hear- 
ing of his pulpit, for bread to eat ! He did not even give 
the work to a man who was in need.” 

John passed his hand over his face, as a heavy frown 
swept his brow. 

“ Yes, and there is another thing he did, Gessia,” he 
said; then he paused. 

“ What was it, dear ? ” 

“ Don’t ask me to tell you ; I ought not to have men- 
tioned it. I did not think when I spoke; you have 
enough on your mind, aheady. The world is a most 
accursed place.” 

“ It is a selfish and thoughtless place, dear ; sometimes 
I think that all it needs is to have its attention called to 
its sins. I know one man who was once selfish and 
thoughtless, w^ho has become a hero,” she added, as she 
put out her thin hand to clasp that of her husband. John 
buried his face in her pillow. 

The shortcoming on the part of the Rev. Sharp which 
he had thought best not to detail to Gessia, was as follows : 
Milroy City had managed to worry along without a dance- 
house some four years after the departure of Mrs. Sue 
Brown for parts unknown. But finally an institution of 
the sort was deemed necessary and one was duly licensed by 
the honorable city council. The women, weary of the 
nights of foul revel and the days of exhaustion, ennui, 
and remorse that followed, occasionally changed the 
tedium of their existence for gallops on horseback in the 
daytime and attendance at such concerts and plays as the 
little city afforded in the evening. Now^, Mr. Sharp had 
two exceedingly stylish and virtuous daughters, who 
occasionally went out for a canter on horseback, and who 
made a point of attending all the evening entertainments. 
Mr. Sharp thought the matter over and w^ent to the hon- 
orable city council. He did not implore that body to 


184 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


abolish the dance-house — oh, no — it was one of the feat- 
ures of our liigh civilization ; but he did implore the 
members to pass an ordinance preventing the attendance 
of the inmates at evening entertainments, and also their 
appearance on horseback. Mr. Sharp entirely forgot to 
ask for any curtailment of the privileges or liberties of the 
masculine rakes, gamblers, brothel frequenters, or seducers 
who were quite plentiful in Milroy City, and who, if there 
be proof in result, were quite persistent in spreading their 
doctrines. Tlieir liberty must of course not be interfered 
with. Personal liberty is a great boon. No, if Mr. 
Sharp could succeed in stopping a few of the innocent 
pleasures of an unfortunate and down-trodden class, he 
was wholly satisfied ; and when the council agreed to his 
propositions he looked upon himself as a very Martin 
Luther of reformation. 

Now John, having lived with a fool for about five years, 
was himself j3ecoming somewhat foolish. He thought the 
matter over, and came to the conclusion that the proper 
way to fight the dance-house was to refuse to license it. 
He concluded that the absence of the women from the 
evening entertainments and from the saddle did but little 
good so long as they were permitted to remain in the city. 
Debarring them from innocent amusement would make 
them still more dissatisfied with the system of which they 
were the victims, and if they had any spirit, as they 
usually had, their warfare against society would be more 
persistent than ever. He thought they could do just as 
much harm walking the streets as they could on horseback 
or in the theatre; then he had come to the fearful 
conclusion that it was wrong to make a law which cur- 
tailed the privileges of the evil members of one sex with- 
out also nipping a few of the liberties of the other. He 
thought that if Mr. Sharp had employed his eloquence to 
persuade the honorable city council to revoke the brothel 
license, that things might have been better. In short, he 
was becoming quite foolish. But he did not want to 
detail the matter to Gessia ; she had trouble enough. 

Gessia became cheerful as the evening w^ore on ; she 
laughed softly and talked of old times — of the parties 
they had attended — of the old home in the East — of her 
trip out West and her adventures on the train. Then again 
she slept, but she left John cheerful and hopeful — after all 
it was going to be well with him. She was getting better 


REST. 


185 


and they would still be joyous and gay. He responded 
to the supper call and ate heartily, lie even succeeded 
in getting the children to the table and out for a romp 
afterward ; and he was so smiling and light-hearted, that 
for once they did not shrink from him. When he returned 
to the bed-room the light was burning. Gessia still slept 
heavily. He put Ralph to bed and then rocked little 
Henry to sleep. His cheer was very great j perhaps even 
the children would come to love him yet. With a light 
heart he sat down to read the paper. The news all 
seemed fresh and crisp, and the world began to look bright 
and hopeful again. It was blowing over at last — his 
storms always did blow over, just give them time enough. 
He was deeply interested in the financial outlook when he 
heard that soft voice call from the bed ; 

‘‘ John.” 

He was at her side in a moment. 

‘‘ What is it, dear ? ” he asked. 

‘‘Please raise my pillow a little. Do you know, John, 
I’ve been thinking again about the old time — about when 
we used to ride the two grays over the hills. Do you re- 
member when we went up to see the graves of those men 
that the Indians killed, away up on the Black Mountain? 
The air was so sweet and cool, and the snow was so white 
on Bernalillo. It was so steep, we had to get off of tlie 
horses and climb. You were used to climbing and I was 
not ; you led both the horses, and took my hand to help 
me ; and I thought what a strong hand it was — how I 
would like to hold it always — to depend on it always for 
strength and support. Take the boys sometime over the 
dear old paths, and tell them that their mamma loved the 
hills, the lakes, and the tall pines. Tell them to be good men, 
John, to be kind to weak, helpless creatures, and never to 
forget the unfortunate and the sorrowful. And now lay me 
down; kiss me first — I am so tired — I must sleep — I loved 
you, John — I never loved anyone else so weU — there, now 
— put me down easily — I must sleep.” She sank back on 
her pillow ; her faint breath swept his cheek just once ; and 
she who had resisted the ways of the world was dead. 


When we make up our minds to commit a mean act 
there are several chances against us which we carefully 
consider j these are, what people will say, whether we will 


186 


THE PATE OP A POOL. 


sustain personal injury, and the possibility of our not cleai*- 
ing the law ; the one we do not consider is the fact that 
we will have all the remainder of our lives in which to 
repent. We start out in life ; one of the first truths 
taught us is that we must die ; the next that we can go 
through life but once. And yet the very social system 
that teaches us these truths, encourages us in our youth, to 
sow dragon’s teeth that shall spring into armed warriors, 
who will make of our lives eternal battle-fields, covered with 
the bones of dead hopes, and dismal with the cries of vir- 
tues wounded unto death. Those who teach us so, say 
that since we can live but once, we should enjoy. That is 
true; we should enjoy. We are capable of the highest 
enjoyment, and we should realize it ; but do we ? Is not 
the average life far better acquainted with misery than 
with pleasure ? Do thoughtlessness, excess, cruelty, 
tyranny, and selfishness, produce pleasure ? He who over- 
eats suffers for his gluttony. The child should be taught 
self-control, justice to others, caution, and the equality of 
mankind ; then he will be able to enjoy the sweets of life 
without being haunted by hideous night-mares of the past. 
But in such a system as ours, wherein morals constitute a 
branch unknown in a young man’s education, and where 
the licensed brothel is a common feature, what can we 
expect save fierce and beastly indulgence, fearful domestic 
tragedies, and heart-breaking and useless remorse ? Oh, 
this one earthly life, with its heavy responsibilities, its 
inexhaustible opportunities for good and bad ! What vast 
preparations we need for its journey ! Perhaps those who 
crowded us out of the straight path into the marsh, where 
poisonous vapors infected our lives, did so because they 
themselves had been wTonged — ^been defrauded of humai:- 
ity’s great birth-right, a humane and noble training. 

It is useless to attempt a description of such remorse and 
anguish as visited John Solomon ; we, whose crimes and 
mistakes have brought home their harvest and laid their last 
bitter fruits at our feet, can understand. Who said that 
dead men tell no tales? To the public, the murdered 
dead indeed keeps silence ; but there is one to whom his 
voice is never still. To his destroyer he is ever present, 
and his blood incessantly calls aloud. It will whisper in 
his ear when he is laughing and singing over his wine, 
and will become a shriek to drive slumber away from his 
pillow at night. The night lamp will not drive the in- 


ttEST. 


187 


Vader away ; the dread form, with its pallid lips and wildly- 
staring eyes, will come forward out of shadows, pointing 
to its death wound and mocking its murderer’s efforts for 
peace. 


John Solomon sat beside a stiff and sheeted form, wildly 
cursing himself and the world. The two children, who 
could not understand why they were drawn back when 
they wished to climb up and play beside their mother, 
were a reminder to him that he could not take refuge in 
self-destruction. He was chained to earth — to years of 
loneliness, self-loathing, and remorse. He was a father — a 
father of children hopelessly wronged, but who must be fed 
and protected and taught. Taught ? Their teacher had 
flown. She had prepared herself by years of training to 
be their teacher, but earth’s system had killed her, and 
she lay still and cold, an object of curiosity and wonder to 
her pupils. 

Oh, Death ! Oh, eager questioning heart, answer the 
query thou hast put forward ! Is this all ? Is the white 
and stiffening clay, soon to return to its parent dust, all 
that is left of the beauty, the nobility, the intelligence, 
that once lived and laughed, sang, grieved, and loved ? 
Did all the grace of that mind, all the rare and curious 
knowledge, all the sweet sympathy for mankind, pass into 
naught because the breath deserted the clay ? If not, 
where are they ? Is that consciousness winging about us, 
looking in pity at us who are still imprisoned in flesh ? 
She knows the dread secrets. The portals of death have 
closed behind her, and she knows what is beyond. But 
we do not. Our heavy eyes see and imderstand only a 
few of the dingy things of earth. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


Midnight philosophy. 

The elder Mrs. Solomon carefully balanced in her mind 
the occurrence that had thrown gloom over her family. 
It was bad, of course, for John to have to hire help for a 
year — it would make talk if he married in less than a 
year — then he would, of course, have to hire two women, 
or there would be more talk. But, after all, since Gessia 
had turned out to be weakly, perhaps it was best for her 
to die; perhaps, if she had lived, she would have kept on 
being weakly, and cost John no end of money. Maybe 
John would see things right now, and marry Sophia. 
Mrs. Solomon was exceedingly sensible ; she believed in 
taking things as they came, and in looking at all matters 
from a purely business standpoint. She shed tears when 
she looked upon the dead; that was the proper thing to 
do; but there was no grief in her heart because of the 
splendid individuality that was lost. Then she woi- 
ried a little for fear she might have to take care of the 
children awhile ; that would be very bad because children 
worried her so. She bustled about the house with a busi- 
ness-like air that was like fire pressed against the over- 
tried nerves of her son. She uttered no word of apology 
for her deception and her abrupt withdrawal of the day 
before ; she only said that she was surprised at Gessia drop- 
ping off so suddenly. 

She was displeased because Frank and Sallie Hatton, 
and Hetty Ann Bales were in the house. People might 
talk. Why had not Ida Jane Ransom been called in to 
officiate, so that the splendor of that seal-skin sacque might 
cast its rays of glory over the gloom ? She intended to 
have some of Ida Jane’s kindred to sit up that night — Ida 
Jane was an Edgeworth — she would do what she could to 
bring back respectability; -it was late now, Gessia had 
died the night before; still she would do what she could. 
That “mess of a crowd” had been in the house one 
night, but they should not be there another. Perhaps 
nothing is more galling to the sincere mourner than the 
litter heartlessness of the majority of those who surround 
him during the first hours of his grief. John’s eyes followed 
his mother with depths of deep, growing hate ; and some- 
how, without a word from her — such things do happen 

188 


MIDNIGHT PHILOSOPHY. 


189 


a suspicion of her plan for the night crossed his mind. 
He knew her preference for the respectable, fashionable, 
utterly soulless Edgeworth clan; he shuddered; what 
things would be said over his wife’s defenceless clay! 
Style and scandal and brutish custom would be discussed 
over the ashes of that heart that had throbbed in pity for 
society’s victims. No ; the Ransoms and tlie Edgeworths 
should not sit with his dead. He had watched alone with 
her last night. Mrs. Bales and the Hattons had remained 
in the house, but he had sat with his beloved alone, and 
done bitter penance for wrongs he could never right. But 
what could he do now ? His mother had not mentioned 
her plan ; he had suspected it — that was all. 

As he sat bitterly thinking, he noticed a figure he had 
not seen in his house before; it was that of the school 
teacher, Miss Royal, Here was hope. He arose quickly 
and drew her aside. 

‘‘Miss Royal,” he said, in a low tone. “Will it be pos- 
sible for you to stay here to-night ? ” 

“Yes; I can stay,” she answered. “I do not have to 
teach to-morrow ; this is Friday, and there is nothing to 
prevent my coming,” 

“Very well,” said John; “It is not every one that I 
would ask to watch with her. She had ill-treatment in 
her life — it was all wrong, but it is too late to help it now 
— but I do not want it continued after her death. You can 
can ask any one you like to sit with you ; I am willing to 
trust to your judgment; of course you will have to talk — 
you cannot keep awake if you do not — ^but then it’s repul- 
sive to think of romping and lightness about one’s dead.” 

“ I understand,” said the teacher, as the tears welled 
into her eyes. “Are you particular as to whom I ask for 
company ? ” 

“You can use your own judgment. There are always 
some hard-hearted people whom one would rather not 
have.” 

“ I understand. I will ask Mr. Mayfair and Mr. Mc- 
Gaggy, and — ” then she paused a moment as if choosing, 
“I will ask Mary McCain; she is a good-hearted, honest 
girl.” 

John looked relieved ; he assented to this arrangement, 
and, bidding Miss Royal tell his mother of the plan, he 
again took his place beside bis dead. He was asked to 
name the time of the funeral, but he bade them suit them- 


190 


THE FATE OF A FOOE. 


selves; then he was asked who should officiate, and he 
said in a tone of fierce decision, and with a wild look at 
his mother, “Mr. Blakesly;’’ and his mother trembled 
and was still. The evening advanced; the evening of the 
last night that his wdfe was to remain under his roof ; 
aliens, aliens, aliens, were in his home — his home no longer 
I — they were thick about liim — they lifted the face-cloth 
from his beloved, and looked curiously at the marble beauty ; 
the scene was intolerable to him, and he rushed to his 
chamber, from whence his wife had fled forever. 

The neighbors did not suspect the existence of the heart- 
cancer that had eaten Gessia’s life away. To be sure, 
they had heard the gossip that had followed the honey- 
moon ; but coarse, heavy creatures can not imagine sensi- 
bilities fine and strong enough to kill. To them, Gessia 
had simply turned out weakly and died. Alas! How 
many poor creatures find their crosses so heavy that they 
turn out weakly and die! - 

As Miss Royal returned to her boarding place, after hav- 
ing talked with John, she met Mr. Will Hockman, who ex- 
pressed his desire to be of service in such strong terms, 
and explained his readiness to sit up so volubly that Miss 
Royal could not help accepting his offer. So wdren the 
night party arrived, he was one of the number. 

Mr. Will Hockman was an individual who had great 
faith in himself ; his bringing-up and his education were, 
in his eyes, quite faultless; his little social lapses, of course, 
did not count. He was handsome, and his manners were 
just such as should accompany his face. If he was just 
the least bit proud of his appearance we hope that that 
fact wdll not prejudice the reader against him. He had 
made so many conquests among the ladies he had met that 
he had wonderful faith in his abilities as a charmer. But 
Miss Eveline Royal, now. What did ail her taste ? She 
actually seemed to prefer Jake Mayfair ; and even if she 
was only a country school teacher, she was a very fine 
woman. Mr. Hockman thought she was worth serious 
consideration ; it would be odd now, if this affair turned 
out just the opposite of his usual love affairs. But he 
would be vigilant ; if any one was to be left sore-hearted, 
it should be her. When he prepared to go to the residence 
of John Solomon, he, like Caesar, took precautions. He 
saw that his handkerchief was esquisitely perfumed, that 
his gloves were spotless, and that his boots were irre- 


MIDNIGHT rillLOSOPIir. 


191 


proachable. In addition to this care, lie donned a most 
wonderful pair of cream-colored pants that had never be- 
fore been exposed to the Colorado air; his linen and his 
broadcloth were scrupulously looked after ; and with hope 
high in his heart, he sallied forth. 

The watching party seemed to understand that Miss 
Royal was queen of the occasion ; they took their cue of 
behavior from her. The party w^as neither boisterous nor 
dull ; they remembered where they were, still they con- 
versed and endeavored to entertain themselves in proper 
fashion. Mary McCain would have been a pretty girl if 
she had not begun to use face powder in her early youth ; 
but she was still kind-hearted and companionable ; her 
tendency to violate the rules of grammar and of taste in 
dress, was argument against her intrinsic goodness. 
Toward midnight she fell asleep in her chair and, with 
mouth wide open, snored vehemently. She was such a 
picture of content that Miss Royal thought it a pity to 
wake her ; so she arranged her head with a view to com- 
fort, propped back the arm-chair in which she was stationed, 
and let her sleep. 

There, now ; ” she said, laughingly, “ One of us, at least, 
is happy.’^ 

“If I had something to eat, I’d be happier,” remarked 
Erastus. ‘ 

“ You shall have; they have provided well for us,” said 
Miss Royal. 

The party were sitting in the kitchen ; Miss Royal 
went to the pantry and began to bring out table furnish- 
ings ; she handed the coffee-mill to AYill Hockman, and 
motioned to Erastus to help arrange the table ; “ Mr. May- 
fair, you may make a little more fire, if you will,” she 
said to the waiting and willing Jake. 

“You are cruel to set me to work,” said Hockman, 
half-delirious with joy. “ Mother didn’t make such a 
slave of me.” 

“ Perhaps it would have been better for you if she had,” 
was the quiet retort. 

“ Why ? Are there many visible defects in my char- 
acter ? ” 

“ Defects are always visible, sooner or later.” 

“ Now you are cruel ; why don’t you answer my ques- 
tion ? ” 

“ Is that coffee ready? ” 


192 


THE FATE OP A FOOL. 


Yes, but I will not give it to you, till you answer me.** 

“ You are a mutinous subject ; I am supreme here. I 
will appoint Mr. Mayfair and McGaggy to seize that coffee 
and hold it as contraband of war. I scout your proposi- 
tion to answer your question. Never will I treat with a 
rebellious subject.’* 

Well, I know it’s no use arguing with a woman; take 
the coffee. You are victor.” 

‘‘If it were possible to put salt in your share, without 
injuring the rest, I’d do it to punish you for delaying the 
feast.” 

The coffee was soon boiling. Miss Royal buttered a 
huge pile of bread, cut slices of cold beef, placed preserves 
and pickles on the table, sliced cake, and then announced 
the meal to be in readiness. 

“ Shall we wake Mary ? ” she asked. 

“No,” was the universal answer. Jake Mayfair, who 
was somewhat alarmed at the recent passage of raillery 
between Hockman and his beloved, added that, in this 
world, the people who could sleep the most were the 
luckiest — they didn’t observe so much. 

“ Oh, pshaw I ” said Will Hockman, with a pleased flour- 
ish, as the party drew up to the table ; “ people ought to 
see and observe ; if they’re not strong enougli to look on at 
every-day happenings without flinching, why, they had 
better go to a better world, that’s all.” 

“ Every-day happenings ? ” said Jake, becoming very 
serious ; “ I’ve seen plenty of every-day happenings that I 
couldn’t look upon without flinching, and what is more, I 
never wished to become so hardened that I could. The 
man who can not perceive wrong, either to himself or to 
his neighbor, is unsound. He wdio cannot perceive in- 
justice to himself, is a sickly idiot, and he who cannot 
perceive wrong to his neighbor, is a cold-blooded tyrant.” 

“ Oh, Mayfair, you don’t mean w’hat you say. Every- 
body cheats everybody else. It’s the only way to live.” 

“ I deny it.” 

“ Now, look here, w^hen you work hard and raise better 
stuff than McGaggy here, you get more money for it, and 
consequently he hasn’t a fair chance.” 

“ He has the same chance that I have. We have both 
earned all we have. Circumstances have doubtless cheated 
both of us, because they have given others better opportu- 
nities and advantages than they havens; but we have 


MIDNIGHT PHILOSOPHY. 


198 


wronged no one. We have simply done the best we could 
with our talents, and that every man has a right to do. 
If we have raised such abundance of grain that we have 
helped to lower the price to the producer, why we have 
also made it cheaper to the consumer; if all men did the 
best they could with their talents, produced all^liey could, 
and indulged in no vices nor spendthrift ways, refraining 
at the same time from trying to get rich without work, 
there would be fewer millionaires and fewer paupers. All 
men would have plenty to live on. I say it is not neces- 
sary to cheat and rob others.” 

‘‘ You say that every man has a right to do the best he 
can with his talents. What if a man’s talent is a faculty 
for stealing ? ” 

‘‘ Stealing is a crime and not a talent.” 

‘‘You said a while ago that you and McGaggy wronged 
no one ; I say that if you lowered the price of grain to 
the producer that you wronged him.” 

“ We did not wrong him. A man can only eat, wear, 
and need a certain amount. Others have the same right 
to profit by their labor as he has to profit by his. If he is 
a just man and a philanthrophist he sees this, and is will- 
ing for others to receive the same return that he does, for 
doing the same grade and amount of work that he does. 
It is only when he does better service that he deserves 
more pay. When a good man accumulates property, he 
uses it for the good of humanity ; the part his neighbors 
accumulated has already gone to feed and clothe humanity; 
he is not injured, because, had he accumulated the part 
his neighbor got, he would have used it in the same way 
that it has already gone, that is, for the good of humanity. 
If the producer is a despot, he is not injured when I lower 
the price of his grain by competition, for had he gained the 
additional wealth, he would have become still more of a 
despot, and his power to injure others would have been 
greatly increased. I will have benefitted him by helping 
to keep down his despotism. If you insist that I injure 
him in the abstract, because I limit his wealth by my com- 
petition, I will insist that he who would grow wealthy off 
of his neighbor’s starvation, is a public enemy and ought 
to be starved out.” 

“Oh, well, I don’t see the use of these fine-spun theories. 
There is no such thing as right. We might just as well get 
13 


194 


THE FATE OF A FOOL, 


what we can and not question how it comes or who it 
crushes.” 

“That is the theory that my old cows act on,” spoke 
up Erastus. “They carry it out so well that one would think 
they were almost human. When I feed *em, the strong- 
est ones rush up and eat the best of the feed and fight the 
w'eak ones\)ff. They’ve about starved that old red cow I 
got of Bill Howells to death. Now I hold that when a 
lot of cows are out on the range where there’s good grass, 
that if there’s one among ’em that’s too lazy to rustle and 
and hunt her feed, that she ought to starve ; and I hold 
that when there’s plenty of work and a man won’t rustle 
and do it, that he ought to starve ; but when I see critters 
with reason crowding the weak to the wall, and gobbling 
up everything, why I think it looks too much like my old 
cows. But then since it’s so, the world over, I don’t see 
any way of helping matters but to train the weak up so 
they’ll be able to fight the strong.” 

“But the strong members of the human family have 
reason,” said Miss Royal. “They ought to see that it 
is wrong to trample on the weak ; they ought to be 
taught it.” 

“ What is wrong, fair lady ? ” asked Hockman. 

“ It is that which injures another.” 

“ What is that which injures one’s self? ” asked May- 
fair. 

“ That depends. The man who injures his soul or as- 
saults his conscience commits a crime ; he who injures his 
body, or his earthly prospects, or permits them to be in- 
jured, may be a fool, or hero, or a martyr. Whether his 
course be crime, folly, heroism, or martyrdom, all depends 
on circumstances. If it be either of the latter, his so- 
called self-injury will be glory.” 

“ Bravo ! ” said Erastus. 

“ Your explanation is very clever,” said Hockman, with 
a winning smile. “ But it shows a mind not of the present 
day. You should give yourself an opportunity to taste 
pleasure, and then you would see other glories in life than 
martyrdom.” 

“ I have tasted pleasure. I intend to taste pleasure. I 
am not a martyr.” 

“You told me you had been in the school-room ever 
since you were seventeen.” 

“ So I have. But I have found pleasure in duty and 


MIDNIGHT PHILOSOPHT. 


195 


pleasure again In recreation when duty was over. I never 
gorged myself with pleasure of any kind until it becama 
hateful to me.” 

Hockman’s face colored slightly. <‘And what is the 
rare pleasure you have planned for the future ? ” he asked. 
The entire quartette now colored, for all were interested. 
But Eveline Royal was equal to the occasion. 

“ I shall clear the table and wash the dishes as a first 
step,” she said. But Hockman was not satisfied ; he 
wanted her to talk ; he was intensely interested in her. 
Erastus was wise ; he saw that there was no hope for him, 
so he spent his time curbing his passion, rather than in 
fighting a useless battle that would betray him. 

“ Your opinions are a menace to your future happiness, 
Miss Royal,” said Hockman. “ They are apt to lead you 
into marrying some man whom you do not love, just 
because he answers to your set idea.” 

“ Oh, don’t worry about me,” she answered, laughing 
and blushing. << I intend to marry the man I love, pro- 
vided I can get him. When I come to marry, I shall do 
what I think is right ; the chances of unhappiness are, I 
know, very numerous ; but if it came to that, I should 
rather know that I had honestly tried to do right. That 
knowledge would give me some consolation. If I did 
wrong, and then my marriage turned out to be unhappy, 
as it of course would, then I would have the burden of 
a guilty conscience added to my other misery.” 

“ A woman ought to love according to reason.” 

** I agree with you. If all women loved according to 
reason the race would improve considerably faster than it 
does.” 

“ But you are picking me up. I mean that a sensible 
woman ought to love the man who is best able to advance 
her in the world.” 

“ That depends on how she is to be advanced. If you 
mean in regard to dresses, jewelry, carriages, and that 
miserable sham called fashionable society, I do not agree 
with you. There would be only misery to me in such a 
life ; I could love no man save one I could respect.” 

“You will very probably love a hypocrite.” Will 
Hockman would not have made this uncivil speech had he 
not seen by the look in Miss Royal’s eye that his cream- 
colored pants and his wonderful neck- tie were to fail of their 
mission* 


196 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


“ So far as that is concerned,” said Miss Royal, there 
is a great question always in my mind ; a hypocrite is 
nauseating to me, but the question is this ; is he any more 
of a stumbling block to progress than the man who pub- 
lishes his crimes ? The latter is better in one way ; he 
does not deceive people ; people will not mistake him for 
what he is not. But he has no respect for the sensibilities 
of the virtuous, and his boldness will be admired and aped 
by the young. His example will mislead more people 
than that of the former. The hypocrite, however bad he 
may be, pays tribute to virtue because he assumes it.” 

You say a hypocrite is nauseating to you. What pro- 
tection have you against one ? ” 

“Every protection. Words are not the only publishers 
of crime and excess. The lines of dissipation are quick to 
inscribe themselves on a face ; the very manner of a man 
betrays him. Few, indeed, are the creatures who can 
keep their passions, their faults, or their virtues out of 
their faces.” 

“Well, how about my face?” he asked, rather im- 
patiently. 

“ Oh, that is personal. We will not discuss that.” And 
Miss Royal laughed lightly, and proceeded to clear the 
table. But Hockman was not satisfied. It was some con- 
solation to quarrel with this charming creature, if he could 
not make love to her. 

“I tell you, Miss Royal,” he went on, “the safest way 
for a woman to do is to let nature guide her in the choice 
of a husband.” 

“ Her own nature, or the nature of the man that wants 
her?” 

“ Neither. Bet the nature that prompts union of the 
sexes point out whom she shall take. Then no matter who 
that is, she will be happy. A man often feels his first im- 
pulse to leave off evil ways when he beholds the woman he 
loves. He is ready to fall at her feet and become a saint 
in return for her love. What woman with any perception 
would refuse a man with a fine face and a splendid 
physique, just because his past had been that of all manly 
men ? ” 

“ I do not like your idea of the term manliness ; I do 
not consider the innumerable cowardly meannesses permit- 
ted by our civilization manliness. Manliness consists in a 


MIDNIGHT PHILOSOPHY. 197 

course of grand and noble behavior, in spite of the con- 
tamination of the world.” 

“Very well. Suppose that a man has never had good 
teachings ; he sees a woman whose love would inspire 
nobility in him. Ought she not to love him and save 
him ? ” 

“ No ; if the man was bad before she knew him, he is 
bad at heart still, and his evil nature will come out sooner 
or later. If he promise to reform because she has attracted 
him, the feeling is not so much a desire to improve, as it 
is servility to a conqueror. All women despise servility, 
while they as universally honor incorruptible integrity.” 

“ Think a moment, Miss Logic, you said ‘ all women.’ ” 

“ And I meant ‘ all women.’ The foulest woman on 
earth has an unspoken respect for the man she cannot cor- 
rupt, that she never feels for her easy victim ; the general 
looks longingly at the citadel he cannot take, while he 
despoils with a laugh that which has already fallen. No ; 
a woman who is a woman, loves the man who is stainless ; 
and the same word or act that diminishes her respect, 
diminishes her love. The attachment that is founded 
upon physical characteristics alone, deserves a coarser 
name than love. I admit that women often marry cor- 
rupt men — sometimes in preference to noble ones — but it 
is not love that causes them to do so ; it is evil teaching. 
The doctrine of keeping up appearances is so faithfully 
taught to our youth, the eye is trained so much more than 
the heart, that many a young woman will abandon the 
lover whom her heart and judgment select, to espouse 
the one whose clothing and appearance best pleases her 
eye. Years of prison and torture remind her of her mis- 
take.” 

“Well, most women are pleased when men stoop to 
them.” 

“ Their vanity is pleased, of course. But servility in 
all cases diminishes respect for the one who stoops. A 
man should enter the matrimonial market just as stainless 
as a woman ; then he should maintain the nobility and 
dignity that befits such a character. These conditions 
being answered to, he may rest assured that the affection 
he obtains will be for himself as he is, and not for the prom- 
ises he may make for the future. The affection which 
he gives will be priceless because it is stainless.” 

“ Well, there must be a good many women who do not 


198 


THE EATE OF A FOOL. 


love their husbands, if your theory is true. Because a great 
many women do marry, who have nothing whatever to 
depend on, save promises for the future,” said Erastus. 

‘‘It is true,” she answered; “women are taught to 
hide their real feelings. Society says that they must marry, 
and, as most of them are raised, they are obliged to marry 
in order to be supported. But it does not always follow 
that they love the creatures they wed. They scorn the 
servile, and secretly hate the tyrants. But the woman who 
has wedded a noble, pure, and humane man, will be happy, 
and her joy will shine out in her face.” 

“ And so,” spoke up Hockman, “ I suppose you’ll 
take Mayfair here, and then joy will shine out in 
ymr face.” There was derision in the tone and a mock- 
ing laughing as a finale. But Miss Royal was not much 
disconcerted ; she colored a little, and then seeing that 
attempts at concealment were useless, she laughed aloud. 

“Yes, that is just what I intend to do,” she said. 
“ It’s all settled, and I have no guarantee for the future 
save the record of the past.” And then Jake Mayfair 
attempted to chew the end of the poker, Erastus Mc- 
Gaggy blew his nose so loud that Mary McCain awoke 
with a start, and Will Hockman looked sadly down at his 
pants as if their airing had been a mistake. 

“ What’s the matter ? ” wildly demanded Mary McCain, 
as she rubbed her eyes. 

“ Oh, nothing. We’ve just been holding a council of 
contention — that’s all,” said Erastus, who half enjoyed 
the situation — if it could not be him, he was glad it 
was not Hockman. 

“ Say, did you do the proposing ? ” asked Hockman, 
with a sneer, as he turned toward Miss Royal, “ I don’t 
think Mayfair could get up courage enough.” 

“ No, I did not propose,” she answered smilingly; “ I’ve 
known Mr. Mayfair to do three very brave things ; he 
has maintained a spotless integrity in the midst of riot 
and filth ; he took a child out of the Gaston when it was 
a raging torrent, and he asked an exceedingly wild girl to 
be his wife.” 

“ Eveline ! ” remonstrated Jake. But Eveline only 
laughed. 

Conversation flagged. The weary party occasionally 
found subjects to discuss, but the arguments were always 
short. It was plain that the animated converse was over. 


CONCLUSION. 


199 

Presently the gray dawn stole in at the windows and 
dimmed the light of the lamp. Doors were heard open- 
ing and closing. The inmates of the house were astir. 
Miss Royal entered the parlor and extinguished the light 
that had burned all night beside the fair sleeper who was 
to awake no more on earth. The long watch was over. 
The day had arrived when the fool, having paid the full 
penalty for her folly, was to leave her home forever. 


CHAPTER XX. 

CONCLUSION. 

Ip the reader’s patience is not completely exhausted by 
the abundance of foolishness described in this small book, 
the author would now like to put forward a few wild ideas 
on her own account. 

Careful statistics kept for many years in England 
prove that in that county, which is probably a fair aver- 
age in matters of birth, there are one hundred and five 
male children born to every one hundred females. A few 
more males than females die in childhood, so that the 
numbers of the two sexes arriving at maturity are about 
equal. This fact would seem to indicate that nature 
meant to provide one of one sex for each one of the 
other. But if so, our civilization defeats nature of her 
purpose. Vice, intemperance, and war, kill so many 
males in their early manhood, that the number of adult 
females is largely in the ascendancy. Thus many women 
are cheated out of homes and husbands, and every woman 
is not, as nature prepared and intended her to be, a 
mother. 

The policy of our nation tends mainly toward peace, 
still we support a public opinion and a code of laws 
which kill off our men so fast that many women go 
unmated and our homes are all too few. Many women 
are also swept into the whirlpool of destruction, and thous- 
ands of others rendered miserable beyond the power of 
words to portray. 

We outwardly support the union of one man with one 
woman, but neither law nor public opinion enforce this. A 


200 


THE FATE OF A FOOL. 


man may have a hundred wives, provided he confine his 
vows to one. If our laws provided no way save marriage 
for the enjoyment of love, the men who are now tramping, 
and begging their way, would be supporters of homes. If 
it be true that the love of a woman is necessary to the 
happiness of a man, why not turn the fact to the good and 
glory and happiness of the nation, instead of letting it sink 
the Republic into a cesspool of filth and shame? 

The Republic does not depend upon mighty armies and 
huge guns for her protection — they can be had if need be — 
but the integrity of her citizens is her bulwark. This can 
only be developed in the home. The brothel is a hot-bed 
of idleness, weakness, insubordination, ignorance, intem- 
perance, and discontent. Poverty, crime, anarchy, tyranny, 
disregard for law, and hate of progress, are born and fondled 
there. Are we too weak to put it down ? Has its virus 
envenomed us all until we can coolly look upon its ravages 
and be silent ? Is it not useless as well as criminal ? 
Does not the law permit every man to enjoy the love of 
woman in honorable fashion ? 

Perhaps our citizens will say that the matter has 
assumed such proportions that it is uncontrollable. If it is 
so now, what will it be fifty years hence I Will it not con- 
trol m and lead us to weakness, effeminacy, and national 
death ? “ Shall we gather strength by irresolution and 

inaction ? ” Better to risk the battle now, than to wait 
until fear of a growing evil has sapped our courage. 

Let us look back and learn wisdom from our shadowed 
and blood-stained past. When our young Republic was 
organized, wise tongues said : “ Let us regulate the slavery 
question. Let us rid ourselves of the pest now.*^ But 
others said: ‘‘We are too weak; it will tear our nation 
• asunder ; and so the matter rested. A year, at most a 
few years, of argument, would have sufficed to settle the 
matter then, for slavery had not yet become very profita- 
ble. But our fathers closed their eyes upon the future. 
They preferred to feed, pet, and conciliate the dragon in 
order to keep it peaceable. It lived. It flourished and 
grew until it poisoned the minds of thousands — ^millions — 
of our best, most warm-hearted, truest citizens, who rose 
in battle to defend their institution. Oh, just but awful 
God of progress! Thy will was done, thy children 
marched out of the house of bondage at last ; but Oh, at 
what a fearful cost of blood and life and brotherly love I 


CONCLUSION. 


201 


Will our citizens ever forget the bitterness engendered then ? 
Will they ever clasp hands over the slain dragon, and to- 
gether bury its rotting carcass away from sight? Let 
them do so and quickly. There is work in the future for 
them to do. Let them forget the blood that has been shed 
in the past, and beware of that which may redden the 
future. 

There is another dragon which we are telling ourselves 
we cannot strangle. It is growing. We are feeding it 
our daughters and our sons ; it ravenously devours them 
and demands those whom we would hold back and shelter. 
Its venom is in our homes. There are a few heroic souls — 
Ah, reforms are so small and slender when they organize, 
so mighty and victorious when they disband — who are 
clamoring for the dragon’s destruction. Let them enlist 
the noblest of the Republic’s sons to lend their hands to 
strangle the monster. Let them not divide into two hostile 
ranks and fight each other over its slimy scales, but let 
them direct their blows at its murderous heart, and visit it 
with unpitying war until it is helpless and buried from 
sight, and its frightful name forgotten. 

We will be responsible if our children shed each other’s 
blood over this dragon. You laugh at the idea of blood- 
shed over such a matter? Think first. Wars have been 
waged over lighter questions. The few heroic souls who 
have decided that the monster shall die, will become a 
mighty host ; their ranks will be recruited from the young 
men of the land, and vice will not sap their strength. 
They will be formidable. Let us beware, lest history 
repeat itself. 

The little band of fellow beings we have met ? 

Mr. Will Ilockman returned to the East and assured his 
friends that Colorado is tlie most over-rated place on earth. 
It’s mountains are flat, it’s scenery tame; and its people but 
little removed from idiocy. 

Jake and Eveline Mayfair are prospering wondei-fully. 

Mr. De Kalb is still principal of the school in Banner- 
town. The only particular incident we can mention con- 
cerning him is his rescue of a family of colored children 
from a burning house. His manly, true-hearted pupils 
constitute the best possible proof that his life is one of 
noble, heroic endeavor. 

Hetty Ann Bales survived Gessia less than a year. Her 
husband mourned for her. He told his friends at the 


202 


THE PATE OP A POOL. 


ealoon that although his wife was cranky and queer, still 
she always had a good warm supper ready for him when 
he came home at night, and he would like to know 
where in the H — ^1 them warm suppers was to come from 
now.” 

The Hattons continue to prosper. Frank told one of 
his cow-boy friends, who of course was also a brute, the 
story of Jennie Nelson. The cow-boy thought that a girl 
who sold her virtue, that she might spread blankets over 
her dying mother, might be worth inquiring after. He 
made her acquaintance and a marriage was the result. 
They are doing well. 

Tdin Batts and wife are much interested in the bringing- 
np of a son. 

The Blakeslys still walk quietly along the road of life, 
doing such little kindnesses as their scant means admit of. 

There is one man in the Bowlder Creek neighborhood 
who never smiles. He carefully trains two solemn-looking 
boys, and spends all his leisure time teaching them and 
directing their thoughts. He never speaks to a woman 
save when doing so is unavoidable. His home, where 
Sam McCain rules, and where his wife, Cornelia, does the 
housework, has lost all charms for him. He lives only 
for his children. His name is John Solomon. 

The snow still lies heavy and white on Bernalillo’s crest. 
It still supplies food and drink and clothing to the dwellers 
in the valley below. And in the shadow of that lofty 
peak, other tragedies will be enacted and other lives be 
marred. Alas, for the creatures who give up a life-hap- 
piness in order to bow down to a tyrant custom 1 


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